


crown of thorns

by moonfleur



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood, Gangs, Guns, Hybrids, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfleur/pseuds/moonfleur
Summary: It has taken years but they're finally here, they're okay, they're alive, they'resurviving. But just when Mark thinks that maybe they will be fine, that things will finally start to settle down, he is ripped from the only family he has and thrown into a life he never asked for.orThe Mad Dog AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 102
Kudos: 216





	1. of poison and fangs

**Author's Note:**

> **!! NEW TITLE !!** Was: OF POISON AND FANGS But I have retitled it because I wasn't really vibing with the original title. Once again, thank you for all the love you have shown to it ♥︎
> 
> Based off these [amazing](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1232152984412250112?s=12) [artworks](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1232521818981842946?s=12) because I am absolutely absolutely in _love_ with them ♥︎ Also [ crinkledpages](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crinkledpages) really wanted to read a fic based off these so here we are!
> 
> In any case, all credit goes to the artist for this amazing AU idea! Maybe, this will be the start of something because I would definitely love to keep writing for this verse.
> 
> For now, **enjoy**!♥︎
> 
> PS. You can find this fic translated in **Spanish** [here](%E2%80%9C)!

_Hunt or be hunted_   
_My collar is empty_   
_2-3, continue to be 100_   
_Only the sky's the limit_   
_So nothing can hold me back_

It is cold. Not like every night _isn’t_ cold these days but tonight is particularly cold. Or maybe the shiver that runs across Mark’s skin is something else entirely. Either way, he buries himself in his blankets, rough woollen things that feel more scratchy on his skin than comfortable. The rickety iron frame of his bed shakes when he moves and he stills, glancing over at the bed across from him, at the dark shape huddled under its own blankets. 

The light streaming in from their dirt-stained window is just enough for him to make out the bundle that he knows to be Taeyong, barely sees the rise and fall of his breathing. The sounds from the street below filter upwards — men laughing as they walk along the main road, the thump of music from the club just a couple of buildings down from them, the echoing footsteps of someone in the alley below followed by the clatter of cans across the ground. Some of the smells make their way in through their perpetually shuttered window and, for once, Mark is glad that it’s winter; the smells of the city in the height of summer are nauseating at best, and Mark already has enough trouble sleeping as it is. 

He is almost drifting off when he hears it, the soft thud of a footfall on the landing, noticeable because of no one walls that softly in these hallways. Mark’s ears twitch but he remains still — maybe they will walk past, maybe they’re not here for them. Wishful thinking, he knows, the minute he gets whiff of the gunpowder from a weapon recently fired. 

Quietly, he slips out of bed and crosses over to Taeyong’s, one ear cocked on the sounds of more footfalls hitting the landing. He reaches a hand into the covers, grabs Taeyong’s shoulder and squeezes once, and that’s all Taeyong needs to spring awake teeth bared and claws out. He takes in Mark a second later and retracts his claws. He opens his mouth to speak but Mark shakes his head, nods in the general direction of the door. 

Outside, he can hear three distinct sets of footfalls, silent but heavy against the old wood of the landing, and Mark is sure that if they open that door, they will come face to face with men at least double their size. He can make out their voices now too, low rumbles as they search their way through the other rooms on the landing, and for once Mark is thankful that they were given the room furthest away. 

They are still listening when they hear the click, the cocking of a weapon and Taeyong freezes, eyes wide as he looks back at Mark. _We need to go_ , he mouths jerking his head towards the window. Mark takes it in, the rust hanging on the frame, the cracks in the glass, the lever that’s barely hanging on and knows that the _minute_ they open that window everyone will be on them.

He takes a deep breath, grabs for the phone and wallet that he keeps hidden under the mattress and steels himself as he waits for Taeyong’s signal. Taeyong walks, footsteps completely silent, towards the window, pausing only when he has his hands on the lever. Mark’s heart is racing, can feel the adrenaline start to kick in when he thinks of the men waiting on the other side of their door. He doesn’t know how they found them, but that is a problem for another day. First, they need to not get caught. He looks back up at Taeyong, braced against the window, and nods. Taeyong’s eyes flash his usual gold, and he pushes.

The window breaks free from its frame with the loudest clang, metal screeching on metal as Taeyong shoves it open and jumps down onto the equally rusted fire escape. Mark is quick to follow, vaulting the table below the window easily to land behind Taeyong. They hear the voices, louder now, and he knows the men have made it to their room but he thinks nothing of it. No point thinking of what’s behind when they need to focus on what’s ahead. 

They sprint down the fire escape, vaulting whole flights of iron steps as they try to make full use of their head start. Taeyong lands, sure-footed despite the one-storey drop into the alley below and Mark follows. They pause, a split-second decision required between taking their chase to the main road or the back alleys when Mark hears the whoosh. Taeyong, is faster, has always been faster, and he shoves Mark aside before he is hit with something metallic, it’s silver casing glinting from where it sticks out the side of Taeyong’s neck before Taeyong crumples the ground. Mark barely has time to register what’s happened when there is another whoosh, metal cutting through air and then a sharp pain in his neck before darkness takes him. 

When Mark finally comes to, he finds himself surrounded on all sides by metal, the bars crisscrossing overhead and under him, the metal digging into his side. He winces when he sits upright, his whole body sluggish as it fights off whatever he was hit with. 

“Mark?” He hears and his ears snap to attention, twitching towards the all-too-familiar voice. He looks around, past the bars of the cage, barely realising that they’re in the back of a van before they lock onto the familiar golden pinpricks. He lets his eyes adjust until he can make out Taeyong in another cage, similar to his, but further away. 

He lets out a whine when he sees the state that Taeyong is in — muzzle and collar chaining him to the walls of his cage. It is only then that he realises the muzzle and collar around his own neck and face, the metal and leather heavy on his shoulders. His tail swishes in agitation. “Yong?” He tries, relieved when he finds that he can still speak. ”Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Sorry, I should have been faster.” 

“Stop, it’s not your fault. We didn’t know they would have a guy in the alley.” 

Taeyong lets out a heartbreaking whine and Mark’s heart squeezes in his chest. “It’s fine. At least we’re together. We’ll figure a way out of this like we always do.”

Before Taeyong can say anything, the door to the van is wrenched open, the loud squeal of the metal making Mark wince. Two large, burly looking men approach, one going straight for Taeyong while the other one walks towards him. Mark’s hackles are immediately raised and he lets out a snarl, eyes flashing silver, but the man only sneers at him. 

“Don’t try anything funny, little dog. One wrong move and there will be a bullet in your brother’s head faster than you can blink.” 

The man handling Taeyong takes out a gun and points it at Taeyong, teeth glinting in the light of street lamps outside as he pointedly clicks the safety off. Taeyong looks at Mark and lets out a warning growl so Mark simmers, settling for baring his fangs at the meathead handling him instead. 

The man remains unflinching, barking out a derisive laugh as he attaches a chain to the collar around Mark’s neck. “Fucking animal.”

He tugs at the chain violently and Mark topples over, the metal of the cage jarring him where he’s fallen on it. “Let’s go!”

Mark is half-dragged out of the van, feet scrambling to pick himself up so that he won’t be dragged through the dirt of what looks like an abandoned warehouse. He is just pulling himself to his feet when he hears a loud yelp. Turning around, he sees Taeyong still very much in the van, held in place by two men as he struggles to come after Mark. 

“Mark!” He calls out and Mark hears the whine in his voice. He strains against his own chains, snarling when the man holding him tries to pull him away. 

“No! Yongie!” He cries, tugging on the chain one more time because these men can go to hell if they think he’s going to leave Taeyong without a fight. Mark whirls around, claws unsheathing as he aims a swipe at the guy holding his chain but the guy merely ducks his attack, his speed defying his size, as he pulls out his own gun. He aims it at Taeyong and Mark stills, teeth still bared behind his muzzle as he stares at the man. 

“I told you,” the man says calmly. “One wrong move.”

Mark’s eyes widen as he looks between the gun and Taeyong, his blood freezing when he hears the click of the safety going off. “Please,” he whines. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll go with you, just please, don’t hurt him.”

The man laughs, a deep booming cackle that raises the hair on Mark’s body. “Smart doggy.” His smile is sharp when he clicks the safety off and re-holsters the gun. “Now, come quietly.” 

Mark lets out one last snarl but he follows the man, trying his best to ignore the sound of Taeyong’s whines as he is led deeper into the warehouse.

Mark is brought into an inner room, one that has metal floors instead of dirt and is completely walled in — no window or door to the outside save the one he’s just walked through. A single bulb hangs in the middle, dim, barely a light, but it is enough to outline the figure that stands beyond its halo. Mark sniffs experimentally and smells cologne, heavy, marred by the smell of metals and gunpowder and leather. Before he can dwell on it, even more, he is grabbed by the collar and thrown into the middle room, the light above him suddenly all too bright. 

“Here’s the one you asked for, sir.” The man who brought him into the room says and Mark’s ears perk up slightly at the slight tremble of fear in his voice. “He looks small but he put up one hell of a fight. Little fucker nearly took a chunk out of my arm.”

There’s a chuckle from the figure in front of him, still swathed in darkness, and it comes out deep and dark. He steps out of the shadows and the light falls on a handsome, tanned face, his thick lips and juxtaposition to the rest of his chiselled features. He smells like danger and Mark has to resist the urge to curl away from him as he bends forward to take Mark’s chin in his hand. 

“He’s perfect.”

༺  ♛ ༻


	2. blood on the dance floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! Omg I really did not expect the fic to get the support it did, so thank you so much for loving the pilot??? I really was on the fence about continuing because I've never done a chaptered fic before but when I saw how many people asked me to, I knew I had to. I just hope it lives up to your expectations though D:
> 
> But anyway, this is basically just a huge **thank you** for loving the pilot fic! Today's chapter is based on these artworks: [1](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1232875074442543105?s=12) [2](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1233239571581652993?s=12) [3](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1233604446619222016?s=12) [4](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1233968271528882176?s=12)

Mark barely remembers what happens after, he remembers the man — tall, dark, more imposing than handsome in that moment, a steely glint in his eyes. He remembers the sharp prick of something against his neck, and then blackness for the second time that night. 

Now that’s awake, he finds himself in what has to be the poorest imitation of a downtown studio he’s ever seen. Unfortunately, it also happens to be the closest thing to a downtown studio he has ever seen. The blanket he is under is softer than anything he has ever owned despite the grey material being just a bit too thin for the time of year. He throws it off him, head spinning violently as he sits up.

He is surprised that they’ve graced him with what looks like a proper room, the bed he is on — and yes, it is actually a proper bed and not the cot he was expecting — is pushed into a corner facing a door that must lead to the world’s smallest en-suite if the size of the room is anything to go by. At the other end of the room, which is pretty much a meter away from the end of his bed, stands a small desk and a bookshelf, their ash wood finishes blending seamlessly into the sheer greyness of the rest of the room. There is a strange chemical smell that hangs in the air, and Mark tries not to think about what (or who) might be the reason for it. 

There is another door by the bookshelf that Mark assumes leads to the rest of whatever building he is being kept in, one that he is almost a hundred per cent certain he’ll find locked. There is no harm in trying though, so he forces himself out of bed steadying himself against the wall as the room spins a little and he feels something sour rise up in the back of his throat. What the fuck did they drug him with? He grimaces, closing his eyes as he waits for everything to settle before he makes his way across the room. 

When he gets there, hand already gripping the handle, a handle that looks so much like the door to his and Taeyong’s apartment, he is hit by a wave of emotion so strong his knees buckle under him. _Taeyong_ . He doesn’t know what happened after he’d left him back in that warehouse, doesn’t know if he’s still alive or if the thugs had decided he wasn’t worth the trouble and had put him out of his misery. The worst part is that even if Taeyong _is_ dead, he would never know. No one cares about the death of a hybrid. Even if he was found by authorities the only thing he would be is another number in the count of unidentified hybrid deaths, if they were even keeping count.

“Fuck, _Yongie_ ” Mark whines as he collapses against the door, the momentum taking him down to the floor where he curls up, face buried into his hands. Something flashes in his mind, of wicked smiles and guns, pointed at Taeyong and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out as something in his chest tightens, cold and twisting. He feels his fangs sink into his lip, the sharp, metallic taste of his blood as it floods his mouth jerking him out of his haze. He clenches his fists, his head suddenly clear, he _needs_ to get out of here. He _needs_ to find Taeyong or he will never forgive himself. His left hand moves reflexively, fingers landing on the inside of his right forearm where his tattoo lies, his first one — a skull and crossbones except the skull is the skull of a dog — the same one mirrored on Taeyong’s forearm. His fingers trace around the outline he knows by heart almost as if it can somehow connect him to his brother. 

“I will find you,” he promises, to himself and to Taeyong. “ _Whatever it takes_.”

Mark remains in that position for a while until his heart settles and he can feel the cold start to seep into his bones from the floor. Sighing, he suppresses a shiver and pushes himself off the floor, the locked door completely forgotten. It is only when he is finally standing, back propped against the door that he notices the pile of what could only be clothes on the desk, a small handwritten note neatly laid out beside it. 

Frowning, he takes a step towards it, glancing around the room as though someone had mysteriously appeared and placed the stack of clothes there. He picks up the note first, gingerly holding it between his fingers as he tries to decipher the strange cursive handwriting. 

_You are expected. Please wash up and change into these clothes, you will find clean towels in the bathroom. Once you are done, please look for the box on the bookshelf — your muzzle and collar are in there. Put them on and then knock three times on the door. The muzzle and collar MUST be on, or the door will not be unlocked._

Mark’s eyes narrow as he tosses the note aside and glances towards the bookshelf beside him. He sees an ornate black box, set right in the centre of the middle bookshelf and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Carefully, he lifts the lid, the latch clicking loudly in the resounding silence of the room. He is greeted by the sight of cold metal and leather, different to the ones that had been used on him and Taeyong before, newer and sleeker, but their purpose remains the same. He can’t contain the growl that slips out as he remembers how it had felt around him, how it had made him feel the most like an animal he’s ever felt in his life. He reaches into the box, fingers closing tightly around the gleaming metal of the muzzle until he can feel its edges digging into his skin. If it is an animal that they want, then an animal they will get.

༺  ♛ ༻

He returns to the bookshelf and the box when he is done washing the dirt and grime of being captured twice off of him. He’d been pleasantly surprised at how _clean_ the bathroom was, in fact, the entire room was clean. Almost annoyingly so, and always, always, that weird chemical smell that had reminded him of the one time he and Taeyong had saved enough to spend a day at one of the public pools. He wrinkles his nose, trying to focus instead of the oddly musky-scented bath wash that had been placed in the shower. 

He lifts the catch of the box, opening it, and even though he’s already seen it, it makes his hackles rise nonetheless. He can’t suppress the shudder that runs down his spine when he picks up the leather collar, all black except for the edges, which are lined in red. He hates this, hates how the collar makes him feel, but he knows it is his only way out of this room so he slips it over his head and brings the two ends together at the nape of his neck. The ends pull together magnetically, the lock beeping twice when it is secure — fingerprint locks. Mark reaches up to tug at the collar, a test to see if it would give, but it remains firmly locked into place. Dammit, he had been hoping it wouldn’t actually be a digital lock, now, there is definitely no way he can pick his way out of it.

The muzzle is a little harder to stomach. The metal glints menacingly up at Mark as he pulls it out of the box and it catches the light of the room’s fluorescent lamps. It’s rather unremarkable, a little more delicate-looking than the one they had used on Mark when they had captured him complete with red-lined black leather straps that match the collar. He pulls one end of the strap towards him and, yup, it is also fitted with an electronic lock. There goes Mark’s grand plans to just rip the muzzle off and sink his teeth into whoever he’s meeting at the first chance he gets. He shakes his head, he’ll figure it out or as Taeyong would say, _wing it_. 

He fits the muzzle around his mouth, struggling a little bit with the multitude of straps until he finally untangles himself and clicks the lock shut at the weird junction between his left jaw and ear. He stretches his jaw a little, testing to see if he can still open his mouth or speak if he has to, smiling when he finds that the muzzle doesn’t restrict his speech. He gives it one last tug, just to be sure, before straightening up and giving himself one last brush down. The clothes they’d given him — a white collared shirt with a pair of trousers — fit him surprisingly well and he can’t help but think about whether they’d been watching him before his capture. Whatever the case may be, he is here now and this might be his only chance at an escape, and he will _not_ waste it. He steels himself, taking a deep as he turns towards the door, it’s now or never. 

Raising his hand, he gives the door three loud raps, the volume of the sound against the silence of the room making him flinch a little. Within seconds he can make out the sound of footsteps coming towards the door. His ears twitch, just one pair if he’s not mistaken. The footsteps come to a halt just in front of his door, there is a beep and one of the panels at eye level slides open. The man on the other side narrows his eyes at Mark as he takes him in, carefully noting the collar and the muzzle. Mark shoots him back a defiant look and the man’s eyes narrow even further but there are two more beeps and the thunk of a lock sliding back. 

The man pushes the door open and Mark gives him a cursory once-over taking note of the all-black attire that seems to be a staple with these people, the holster slung around his hips, and the dagger strapped to his tie. Metal clinks and Mark’s attention is drawn to the chain the man is holding in his hand. Mark lets out a warning as the man steps closer, chain in hand, presumably to attach it to the collar around his neck.

“Behave,” the man warns, his eyes flashing fox-like as he takes another step closer. “This is just a precaution. Do as you’re told and you’ll be out of these chains a lot faster than you think but if I see even a hint of claw, this dagger will be in you faster than you can blink.”

Mark casts a derisive eye over the man who has come to a stop in front of him, just out of arm's length, taking in his posture and the way he looks both relaxed and completely taut at the same time. He doesn’t doubt for a second that the man will do what he says, and he is no use to Taeyong dead, so he nods. There’s a small click as the chain attaches before Mark is led from the room, and he can’t help the little bubble of relief he feels that the man isn’t tugging him around like an animal, choosing instead to direct Mark with gestures. 

Mark is led into a corridor that is the complete opposite of his room; where his room is all cold whites and greys, this corridor is all dark wood and concrete, and barely lit. Strange smells waft along the corridor, and Mark can just about make out the faint scent of Chinese food, combined with another oddly clean-smelling scent, the combination of which makes his nose twitch in discomfort. Other than the strange smells, there is nothing else, no other sound or footfall, or any other indication that people live in this building. 

At first, Mark tries to remember the turns they’ve taken, right, right, left, another right, but after a while, everything looks the same and Mark is becoming more and more convinced that the building was purposely set up to be a maze in order to discourage escape attempts. Eventually, they come to a stop in front of a set of large, dark wood double doors complete with old fashioned knockers, carved into the shape of a Dragon’s face, on them. Who the fuck still uses knockers? Clearly these people do because the man leading him lifts a ring and knocks. 

Nothing happens for a minute, and Mark briefly wonders whether he should maybe ask the guy to knock again when the doors swing open. Both of them, at the same time, like an ominous opening of a horror show without the weird creaking sounds. Surprisingly, the room beyond them is all white, and lit so brightly Mark finds himself half-squinting as he is led into it. It is huge, almost cavernous, bigger than Mark would have expected a room in this dingy building to be, and way too _clean_. The entire right side is lined with bookshelves, not all of them full, but the sight is still jarring enough for Mark who was really expecting to be brought into a dungeon or torture chamber of sorts. Or at the very least some kind of intimidating mob boss office. 

He turns to the other side of the room and, ah, this _is_ the intimidating mob boss office — the other side of the room is where he comes face to face with the same man he had met back in the warehouse. He is standing, arms crossed and dressed all in black once again as he leans against a giant behemoth of a desk, its cream colour perfectly matching the rest of the furniture in the room. He smiles when he realises Mark is looking at him and Mark glances away so fast he’s sure he’s given himself whiplash. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark sees him nod once at the man who had brought him here.

“Thank you, Dejun.” His voice, deeper and huskier than he remembers, shocks Mark enough that he turns back to him. “That will be all for now. You can wait outside.”

His guard, Dejun, bows slightly before unclipping the chain from Mark’s collar and leaving without another word. Now, it is just Mark and this man, who he assumes has to be in charge of things here even though he barely looks older than Mark. He looks different now too, maybe it’s the difference in the environment from the last time they’d met, or the fact that he’s no longer wearing a suit, clearly opting for something more comfortable if the t-shirt and jeans he has on now are anything to go by. He seems less intimidating, _seems_ being the operative word here because there is no doubt that he is still very much _dangerous_ , the taste of it still tangible even in this air. 

He is looking at Mark appraisingly, arms still crossed as he very obviously rakes his eyes over Mark’s body until Mark wants to do nothing more than shield his body away from his prying gaze. But Mark is smart, he chooses to remain silent and unmoving, letting the guy observe him until he is sure his gaze has singed every square centimetre of his body. The man cocks his head slightly, meeting Mark’s eyes firmly before he curls his fingers, beckoning him over.

“Come here,” he says and his tone brooks no argument, not that Mark would have argued anyway. He knows when to pick his battles. Gingerly, Mark walks towards him, eyes trained securely on a spot of the wall just a bit above the man’s shoulder. Mark stops just in front of him and a small part of him can’t help but note in embarrassment how much shorter he is, his eyes barely in line with the man’s chin. He hums in what Mark hopes is approval, taking Mark’s chin in his hands like he had before back in the warehouse but softer this time. The touch is almost gentle and Mark’s mind reels at the thought because no one is ever gentle, especially not mob bosses, and especially not to hybrids. 

The sound of the man’s voice startles him out of his thoughts and Mark meets his gaze, only now realising how close they are. He can feel the man’s breath against his face, can _smell_ it, and he has to resist the urge to flinch when it ghosts over his face. The man is mumbling to himself as he tilts Mark’s face at various angles, examining him, and Mark has to bite back the snarl of indignation that rises in his throat. He is _not_ some fucking show pony. The man seems to notice though because he glances back up at Mark and something flashes in his eyes, a warning maybe, and Mark swallows his thoughts down. Now isn’t the time.

The man pauses his examination to fish out a phone from his back pocket, the grip on Mark’s chin tightening just enough to make Mark wince. “Hold still for me,” he says, always a command and never a question, but Mark listens anyway. As comfortable as the man seems to be right now, the smell of danger is ever-present, and Mark isn’t stupid enough to test it just yet. The man raises the phone, and Mark has to battle the overwhelming urge to shrink away from the camera, an urge that his many years on the run have drilled into him. Instead, he holds himself as still as possible, allowing himself to be manhandled until the man is finally satisfied with the photos he's taken.

“Good boy,” the man says once he’s returned his phone to his pocket and Mark hates the way his dog side wants to preen under the praise. “See? Not so bad, was it?”

Mark shoots him a look as derisive as he dares to give, and the man barks out a laugh. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” He stands up from the desk and Mark can’t help but take a step back. The man must notice because he smiles, and Mark doesn’t know if that’s supposed to be comforting because he really does not feel comforted right now. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you. Not unless you give me a reason to, of course.” Those last few words come out low and dark, a clear warning if Mark’s ever gotten one, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. He still doesn’t know what this guys’ game is, he walks around without any weapons but threatens like he holds the key to human extinction, and Mark doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that he can’t place the source of the danger. 

He watches as the man steps away from him, rounding the long desk until he is on the side. He pulls open a drawer and takes out a stack of papers that he proceeds to read, eyes occasionally looking up from them to check that Mark is still there. He stops when he gets to one particular sheet, the hand holding the sheet before it hovering in the air like he’s forgotten all about it. He looks back up at Mark, his gaze so intense that this time Mark actually flinches.

“It says here that you’re a special one, Mark,” he begins, gaze calculating, and Mark freezes. So the guy does know who he is. “It says that you’re wild, you bite without warning, and that your bite _kills_ . I’m sure you, yourself, know how rare it is for a hybrid to have venom that strong.” He huffs out a laugh and places the sheets of paper down on the table before meeting Mark’s gaze again. “I was warned, you know, to keep you muzzled, but I must admit that I _am_ curious.” He pauses and Mark can’t help but notice the gleam in his eye. It makes Mark feel nervous, makes him feel like the man is the wild one, not Mark but what can Mark do in the end except listen.

“Come here, Mark. Let’s get this muzzle off you.”

Mark freezes, eyes going wide at his words. Is this guy crazy? Does he have a death wish? After reading all of that, he wants to _take off_ the muzzle? Maybe he has no sense of self-preservation, Mark thinks to himself as he rounds the table to join the guy on the other side. Whatever the case is, this is _it_ , the one (and probably only) chance Mark might have at escaping this place. All he has to do is land one bite, just one, and this guy is undoubtedly a goner. No one has survived one of Mark’s bites before. Some have stayed alive long enough to make it to a hospital but never beyond that, the standard vials of antidote having been insufficient to save them. Once he’s done with this guy, all he has to do is threaten Dejun with a bite and he’ll be (hopefully) home free. 

He watches stiffly as the man reaches for the lock that sits on the curve of his jaw, his fingers brushing against Mark’s face in a gesture of false intimacy. The lock clicks and the muzzle falls away, leaving the man completely and utterly defenceless. Without any warning, Mark surges forward and sinks his fangs into the guy’s shoulder, right through his shirt. Mark barely has time to register the release of venom and the blood trickling down his chin, when he is picked up bodily and slammed against the desk, his head rebounding off its surface he sees stars. There is a hand around his neck that he claws at desperately but it remains unmoving, tightening just enough to make Mark choke. He tries to take in a breath but there is nothing, not even a sliver of air for Mark to cry out. 

His vision returns, barely, blurred by the tears already streaming down his face from trying to breathe, and he sees the man hovering over him. There’s blood smeared across his face and pouring from the wound in his shoulder but the man pays neither of it any mind, gaze trained completely on Mark as he struggles to take in another breath. There is a shout from outside, asking if the man needs any assistance but he merely shakes his head.

“It’s fine! The puppy is just being disobedient,” he yells back towards the door. 

Mark is losing his ability to maintain the struggle, he can feel it in the way his vision is starting to get dark around the edges and the way his limbs just keep getting heavier. He keeps one hand clutched around the main’s arm but that’s all he can manage at this point. He doesn’t understand though, how this guy is still standing, how he’s still alive. He should be dead, and Mark should be on his way out of here. He doesn’t know what went wrong. 

He is just about to lose the grip on his consciousness when the hand around his throat loosens. Not by a lot, but enough for him to suck in a strangled breath, and another, and another until he’s gulping in as much air as he can. The man turns towards him, eyes a dark silver, and this is it, _this_ is the danger. He leans in until his body is hovering barely an inch above Mark’s, and then closer still until Mark can feel his breath hot against his ear. He wants to struggle, tries to, but any attempt at trying to get the man’s hand off his throat proves futile.

The man huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling Mark’s ear. “You thought you had me, didn’t you? Thought I would keel over and die the minute you’d sunk your fangs into me?” There’s another breathy chuckle and Mark squirms under his hold, teeth gritting in effort. “Baby, if I was that easy to kill, I wouldn’t be here.” 

He lifts his face so that he can look Mark in the eye, a smug grin etched into his face, and that’s when Mark notices — he has _fangs_ . How does he have fangs? _Why_ does he have fangs? The man gives them a predatory lick, eyes gleaming that strange dark silver as he lifts Mark off the desk by his throat and stands him on the ground. “Now, how about we settle this like adults, hmm?” His grip around Mark’s throat tightens, just a bit, and he chokes out a breath. “No more biting or next time,” he pauses, fangs flashing once more. “Next time, I _will_ bite back. And I promise you, you do not want that. Do we have an understanding?”

Mark nods frantically and the man releases him, watching with faint amusement as Mark collapses onto the ground, a hand massaging his throat as he sucks in gasping breaths. “Who…,” Mark croaks out in between breaths. “Who are you?”

“Me?” The man answers, and Mark can hear the smirk in his voice. “You can call me Wong Yukhei.” He crouches down until he is eye level with Mark and hands him a glass of water, smirk still etched into his face except now Mark can’t stop staring at the little bit of fang poking out from under his lips. “And I have a proposition for you.”

Mark splutters, the gulp of water that he’d half-swallowed comes right back up and Mark thanks all the gods in the universe that he had the reflexes to turn away from Yukhei because he doesn’t think he’s ready for a second round with him just yet. The water goes everywhere, and Mark winces when he sees the splatters of red on the white tiled floor. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve quickly before turning back to Yukhei who is watching him with the most curious expression on his face.

“You have a proposal… For me?” Mark croaks out in between coughs, unable to keep the disbelief out of his tone.

“Yes,” Yukhei nods, seating himself on the ground opposite Mark so comfortably almost as if he hadn’t just had Mark’s life in his hands a moment ago.

“As in… You’re _asking_. As in… You’re giving me a choice?”

Yukhei’s lip twitches in what Mark hopes is amusement. “Yes, Mark.”

Mark is stunned for a second and just sits there gaping at Yukhei like he’d just sprouted an extra arm out of his head. “W-Why? Why would you give me a _choice_ ? I’m-” _An animal_. The words remain unsaid but Yukhei reacts like he has heard it anyway, eyes immediately going hard and Mark is suddenly afraid that there is going to be a repeat of their earlier scuffle, but Yukhei remains resolute in his spot on the floor.

“Everyone that works under me, hybrid or not, is treated equally.” Whatever warmth there had been in Yukhei’s voice earlier is completely gone, leaving something hard and cold in its place. “And they all choose to do so freely.”

Mark can’t help but scoff at his words. “Why did you capture me then? Force me into this.” He tugs at the collar that still sits heavily around his neck. “You’ve only ever treated me like an animal.”

Yukhei shoots him a pointed look. “You didn’t exactly come quietly, did you? Created quite a mess when my boys tried to contact you. And what did you do the minute I took your muzzle off, huh?” Mark glances at the wound on Yukhei’s shoulder, wincing at the tinge of regret he feels when he realises that it’s still bleeding. ”Did you really expect me to not take precautions?”

“You- Yeah… Yeah okay, that’s valid,” Mark mumbles, his ears flattening against his head as he looks back at Yukhei. “You should get that cleaned up by the way.” He jerks his head towards Yukhei’s shoulder but Yukhei merely waves an unbothered hand at him.

“I’ll be fine. Now, would you like to hear what I have to offer? Or would you like me to just let you go?” Mark doubts the process would be as simple as _just letting him go_ but he considers it, the possibility that he could just walk right out that door to find Taeyong, no questions asked. He’ll never miss what he doesn’t know, right? Then he _really_ considers it, working under Yukhei in an environment where he can live, well, almost freely. He glances at the wound on Yukhei’s shoulder again. No harm hearing what Yukhei has to offer, it’s the least he can do anyway because Yukhei could have killed him, right there on the table, but he didn’t, and Mark figures that has to count for something.

He looks back up at Yukhei. “I’m listening.”

“Then listen well,” Yukhei starts. “I want you to be my personal guard, a guard dog of sorts. I need someone who I know won’t hesitate to keep me safe.”

Mark narrows his eyes at him. “What happened to your previous one? I’m sure you had one before now.”

Something flashes in Yukhei’s eyes then that Mark can’t place but there’s an odd ache that settles in his chest when Yukhei speaks again. “He’s not with me anymore.”

Mark gapes. “Oh! Oh, my God. I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean-”

“No!” Yukhei cuts in and Mark realises he’s gone pale. “No, he’s not- he’s not _dead_. Fuck. He’s just guarding my second now.”

“Oh.” Mark draws out the end of the word as he thinks back on Yukhei’s reaction; a question for another day. “Was he- Was he like… Not good enough? Or something?” He adds as an afterthought.

Yukhei’s eyes widen and it would look almost comical if Mark wasn’t still so shaken by the events that had happened earlier. “Not good? Of course not, he was great. The best! There were just-” He pauses, eyes closing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “There were complications… But he’s in a better position now. I just need to replace him.”

Mark frowns. “And you want me? You do know I’m retired, right? I gave up fighting a long time ago.”

Yukhei sighs, running a hand through his hair as he opens his eyes to meet Mark’s gaze. “I know. But you’re still the best I’ve heard of.”

Mark tries not to let the words get to him but his body betrays him, flushing right up to his cheekbones. He clears his throat and looks away, as if not looking at Yukhei meant Yukhei couldn’t see him either. “What’s- What’s in it for me?”

“A roof over your head, one that isn’t leaking anyway. A warm place to sleep and, hopefully, somewhere you can call home in the long run. All of that on top of a monthly salary, of course. And I _promise_ you will be treated fairly here. I do not stand for that kind of bullshit.”

It’s good, the offer is good. The idea of not having to up and leave a place every six months, of having enough money to afford an apartment in the future, and until he gets there a decent enough room. If all he needs to do to have all of this is protect Yukhei, the answer is simple. Except… 

“What about my brother?”

Yukhei visibly flinches at that and Mark prepares himself to turn Yukhei down. “Fuck. Sorry, Mark. The boys were supposed to bring you _both_ in but the idiots let him go, and we haven’t been able to find him. But he has a place here if he needs one.” Yukhei’s voice softens, just a little bit. “I know how much he means to you.”

Mark’s chest tightens as the thought of Taeyong being able to live here, with him. Safe. Or safer than they’ve ever been anyway. “So if I find him, he can stay?”

Yukhei nods, and Mark releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them as he replays Yukhei’s words in his head. Half of him doesn’t believe Yukhei because the idea of being treated fairly is so farfetched he can barely bring himself to believe it but the other half of him is hoping to God that Yukhei is telling the truth. He thinks about the room he had shared with Taeyong tiny, cramped, always cold because they were too far away for the central heating to get to them. Then he thinks about the room he’d just woken up in, small but spacious, clean, and most importantly for Mark, _warm_. 

When he meets Yukhei’s eyes, he finds the young mob boss watching him, his gaze questioning. “So what do you say, Mark? Ready to join a Triad?”

༺  ♛ ༻


	3. drink from this cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back with an update! I'm so sorry it's taken so long but life has been a bit rough this last couple of weeks and I only kinda got my writing feels back the last few days. I do hope you like this chapter though!
> 
> As usual, this is based off @puku2pang's drawings, [this](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1238757339009712129) one in particular ♥︎
> 
> Enjoy!

They wake him up at some godforsaken time in the middle of the night, and Mark knows it is because he feels like he’s barely slept for two hours, which he probably only has. The raps on his door sound again and he has to resist the urge to bury his head under his pillow. Instead, he calls out a very croaky “I’m up!” which he hopes is loud enough to make it through the door. It is.

“Good!” Comes the reply, way too alert and much too loud for two o'clock in the morning that Mark’s ears flatten against his head instinctively. “Get dressed. The boss wants us in his office in ten minutes.” There’s a pause, which Mark uses to swing himself out of bed before the voice calls out again. “You can leave the muzzle behind.”

Mark freezes with his pants (or rather the pants he found in the drawers under his bed) halfway on. “What?” He calls out, uncertainty lacing his words.

“No muzzle!” The voice, that he’s slowly recognising as Dejun’s, repeats.

Mark can’t believe his ears, after the stunt he’d just pulled earlier that day, he would have thought that there was no way they would let him be muzzle free. But it seems like Yukhei had meant what he said about treating hybrids as equals. Although, Mark can’t help but wonder, as he slips into an all-black tight-fitting long-sleeved shirt, whether Yukhei is taking this just a bit too lightly. This is only his probation job, a test-run of sorts. Mark hasn’t even been properly inducted into the Triad, and while Lucas might be immune to Mark’s venom, the rest of his men certainly aren’t. Mark shakes his head and resumes getting dressed, Yukhei is an odd one — all teeth and claws in one moment, intimidation rolling off him in waves, then overly trusting the next. Mark doesn’t understand him, as someone who has spent his life learning to never trust anyone, he supposes he’s just never had that luxury. 

He tugs a beanie over his ears and raps on the door, three knocks as usual. Dejun opens the door and gives him a weary glance, _smart_ , Mark thinks. “Don’t even think about trying anything, Mark.” Dejun’s voice is low, almost threatening as he closes the door and leads Mark through the winding corridors of the compound. “I don’t know why the boss thinks he can trust you, especially after you chunked him like you did, but know that none of us do. And while your venom might be deadly, don’t forget that _we_ are trained to be.”

Mark snorts, but he knows that Dejun is being serious, and he knows that all his years in the fighting ring will never compare to the years of training Dejun must have. “Don’t worry, I understand. I wouldn’t trust me either, if we’re being honest.” He shoots Dejun a wry smile when he turns towards Mark and gets an eye roll in response, but the corners of his mouth twitch slightly so Mark counts that as a win regardless. 

Dejun takes them down the same path he’d taken them earlier that day, and like before, Mark gives up trying to remember the turns that they take although he’s convinced that at least _some_ of the hallways look familiar now. When they get to the double doors that lead to Yukhei’s office, Dejun lets them in instead of knocking this time causing the conversation taking place behind them to pause. Mark is greeted by Yukhei, in yet another all-black ensemble, this time in a sort of in-between to the two outfits Mark’s seen him in. The tight black turtleneck leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination and Mark is suddenly reminded of all the strength hidden within that lean frame. 

Yukhei nods in greeting, not waiting for either of them to return it before turning back towards the young man he was talking to. “We’ll talk about this later,” he whispers low, but not low enough for Mark to miss with his hybrid hearing. His ears twitch under his beanie but he keeps his expression schooled not wanting to give away that he’d probably intruded on a conversation not meant for his ears. The man nods in understanding, and Yukhei turns to face them.

“It’s just us four tonight. Mark, this is Kunhang,” Yukhei gestures to the man he’d been talking to and Mark gives him a quick once over, noting his soft features and eyes that seem to shine too bright for a man who has dedicated his life to the Triads. Mark bows his head in greeting and Kunhang offers him a small smile in return, a genuine one. Mark’s eyes widen in surprise and Yukhei must notice because he lets out a huff of laughter. “He’s the brains of our entire operation. Don’t let his looks fool you though, he’s just as capable in a fight as any of us.”

“More than, you mean,” Kunhang counters, throwing a smirk at Yukhei who cuffs him on the back of the head lightly while Dejun lets out what could only be an exasperated sigh beside Mark. 

“Kunhang,” Dejun warns and Kunhang sighs dramatically before bowing slightly at Yukhei.

“Sorry, boss.” The grin on his face does nothing to convince anyone of his sincerity but neither Yukhei nor Dejun give him any grief after that.

Mark watches the entire exchange in fascination while simultaneously trying to hide his shock over the fact that Kunhang just made fun of their boss. Yukhei looks completely unperturbed, though, glossing over his actions with just a shake of his head. Once Kunhang settles, Yukhei returns his attention to the rest of the group and this time it’s the Yukhei that Mark is familiar with that greets them — all cold steel and sharp gaze as he looks between them.

“Dejun, I’m sure you’ve heard by now but, for Mark’s sake, here’s what’s going down tonight.” He glances briefly at Mark, who tries his hardest to swallow aa surreptitiously as possible. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about us, Mark, or if you’ve even heard about us at all. Although, with the circles you used to run in, I would be surprised if you hadn’t.” He shoots a small grin at Mark, who can only nod stiffly. “We deal with guns for hire. Hitmen, if you will. Anyone who needs something, or _someone_ , taken care of in this city comes to us, and only us, if they know what’s good for them. Unfortunately,” Yukhei growls on the word, something so low and guttural it makes the hairs on Mark’s arms stand on end. “Someone has decided to stick their fingers into the pot. _Our_ pot. So tonight we’re gonna pay them a visit.”

Mark’s eyes widen as the implications behind Yukhei’s words dawn on him and Yukhei must notice because he laughs, in a way that is all teeth and it makes Mark’s stomach churn. He claps a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to cause any trouble. Not unless they cause some anyway. We’re just going to talk to them, give them a little bit of a warning maybe.” Yukhei smiles and Mark can’t tear his gaze away from the fangs that seem to gleam in the bright light of the office. 

“You,” Yukhei continues, curling a finger under Mark’s chin so that Mark has no choice but to look at him. “You just make sure I get out of there alive. Can you do that for me?” 

Mark swallows thickly and nods, thoroughly ignoring the way Yukhei’s voice comes out lower than before and how he is now standing so close to Mark that Mark can feel his breath fan across his face on every exhale. Yukhei’s eyes flash that dark steely grey as he smiles and takes a step back from Mark, giving his cheek a gentle pat as he does. “Good. Now let’s go, the car’s already been prepped.”

Dejun looks between the two of them once, his expression unreadable before he turns on his heel and leads the way out of the room. Kunhang follows after him without even a glance back at the two of them. Mark doesn’t know if he should follow them or if he should let Yukhei go first so he hesitates. He turns to look at the young man, who is now his soon-to-be boss, and is surprised to find Yukhei already watching him, amusement glinting in his eyes. He gestures towards the door. “After you.”

Mark nearly trips over himself as he hurries towards the still-open door, willing his nerves to calm the fuck down. He’s just crossed the threshold when something is thrown over his shoulders and he looks down to find a black bomber draped over him. Frowning, he looks back up at Yukhei who smiles, gently this time, as he reaches over to ruffle Mark’s hair. “It’s cold out there. Can’t have my bodyguard dying of hypothermia on me now can I?” He gives Mark one last scratch behind his ears and Mark nearly whines when he retracts his hand. “And please relax, Mark. I’m not going to eat you.” The image of Yukhei’s fangs barely two inches from his face flashes through his mind and he immediately doubts that statement but he forces himself to relax anyway. One deep breath, and then another, one foot in front of the other until he feels the tension bleed away. Beside him, he can feel Yukhei’s smile.

༺  ♛ ༻

The night air is cold when they step out of the car, the wind slicing right through him despite the jacket Yukhei had given him. His tail swishes in discomfort as he shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jacket and pulls it tighter around him. They’re parked in front of one of the many low-rise buildings in the empty industrial park they’ve entered, the only one that had its front gate wide open. The building before them looms dark and ominous except for the single square of light coming from one of the windows on the third floor. The light is just bright enough to hit them where they’re standing, but just barely. 

The four of them gather by the back of the car and if Mark hadn’t been intimidated by Dejun and Kunhang before, well, he is now. His eyes trail over the belts and holsters strapped across their hips and around their thighs, Mark can make out the shape of two long blades strapped to the outside of Dejun’s thighs and the huge semi-automatic slung over Kunhang’s back is anything but subtle. He glances back at Yukhei, who is strapping his own twin pistols into their holsters on his hip. “I thought we were just going to talk,” Mark hisses, glancing between the three of them and the armoury they have strapped to as many parts of their bodies as possible. 

Dejun doesn’t even look up from where he’s tightening his nth strap while Kunhang just gives him a smile that’s completely unreadable. In the end, it’s Yukhei who gives him an answer. “ _We_ are. We don’t know anything about them though, aside from their feeble agreement to this meeting. It’s always better to prepare for the worst in this line of business.” Four of them against the number of people that may be waiting for them in that building doesn’t sound like very good odds to Mark but neither of them seems very perturbed by the prospect so he forces himself to relax.

“Okay,” he huffs finally, breath billowing out in puffs faintly illuminated by the pale light of the window. 

Yukhei gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry. Like I said, we’re not going to cause any trouble. And if it comes down to a fight, well, we’ll just have to make them regret it now won’t we?” 

Yukhei’s fangs gleam despite the relative darkness and the intensity with which he’s grinning at Mark has him forcing down a shiver. He nods when he realises Yukhei is still waiting for an answer and gets another squeeze for his efforts before Yukhei turns back to the other two.

“Mark and I will go in first, the two of you watch our backs. If anyone gets even an inkling that something’s not right, we’re leaving. Got it? And Dejun, if anything _does_ happen, _try_ not to make a mess.”

Dejun’s grin is a mirror of Yukhei’s despite the two-finger salute he gives his boss and this time Mark can’t keep the shiver down. Praying that no one’s noticed, he falls into step beside Yukhei as they make their way into the building. 

There is no one around on the ground floor, the glass double doors opening into a long, dark hallway that must span the entire depth of the building. Mark can make out the faint hum of a generator some way in the distance, his ears twitching as he tries to listen out for anything that might be out of the ordinary but so far there is nothing save for the soft padding of their shoes on concrete. 

There is a stairwell in the middle of the hallway that seems to be lit from the landing a few floors above them, which Mark assumes is where they need to be going. Yukhei doesn’t hesitate at all when he takes the steps, his face betraying nothing but Mark notices the way his right hand is gripped tightly around the holster on his hip. Mark, on the other hand, doesn’t like anything about this entire situation. He doesn’t know if it has to do with the fact that this is his first time going into a situation like this but there’s something about it that doesn’t feel right to Mark. 

The first thing he notices is how absolutely _quiet_ it is, aside from their footfalls and the hum of electricity, there is nothing. No other footsteps or voices, nothing to indicate that there is anybody else in that building aside from them. The next thing he notices, this when they’re already rounding the second floor landing, is the smell - the stale stench of human that’s been collecting for far too long. It is a vivid juxtaposition to the sheer silence surrounding them and Mark’s hackles rise instantly, the fur of his tail bristles in warning and he lets his claws unsheath, ignoring the sting in his nail beds as they do. Behind him, he hears the soft click of what must be Dejun unsheathing one of his knives and he knows his actions haven’t gone unnoticed. 

They arrive at the third floor landing to find it lit up, but only just, with only the light above the landing switched on. There are three figures standing just beyond that central ring of light and a part of Mark can’t help but wonder what it is with these gangsters and their constant need to hover in darkness. Of course, the other half is more than a little wary and he reaches for Yukhei, nothing excessive, just a gentle squeeze of his arm, even though he’s sure that Yukhei’s hybrid eyes have seen what he’s seen. 

Yukhei comes to a stop somewhere just before the middle of the ring of light, head cocking to the side slightly as he crosses his arms and waits. Mark remains half a step behind, close enough to intervene if anything happens but far enough that he’s not breathing down Yukhei’s neck. He keeps his claws unsheathed as the three figures finally step into the light. 

Mark can’t help the soft snort he releases when the light finally illuminates their features. Where Yukhei had been all-powerful and intimidating, danger leaking from the sheer presence of him, when he had stepped into the light in front of Mark not a few days ago, these men reeked of overcompensation. Where Yukhei had stepped forward and immediately filled up the room, these men barely filled up their half of the circle. In fact, they looked more like the meatheads Yukhei had used to capture him that night, burly rolls of muscle stuffed into cheap suits in some poor attempt to look intimidating. Meat rolls or not, they are still armed to the teeth, guns and daggers hanging off them like bells on a bandoleer. Mark eyes the weapons warily as he takes a small step close to Yukhei. 

“Yukhei,” the man in the middle says finally, the metal in his teeth reflecting the light as he leers disgustingly at Yukhei. “Glad to see you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it, _Pengfei_.” The sneer with which Yukhei says his name so terrifyingly brilliant that Mark doesn’t need to see it to feel it. “After all, we’re here to discuss your recent… endeavours. Are we not?”

“And what endeavours are we talking about here, exactly?” Pengfei asks, arms crossing as he grins with stupid self-confidence at the two men flanking him. 

Yukhei lets out a growl then, so low in his chest that Mark is sure only he’s caught it, but it makes his hair stand on end regardless. He resists the urge to look up at Yukhei, keeping his gaze trained on Pengfei instead. “Don’t fuck around with me, Pengfei. You’ve been encroaching into my territory, stealing _my_ business.”

Pengfei sucks on his teeth as he shrugs, a horrible sound that has Mark wincing. “Not my fault if you’re losing business now, is it?”

“You’re selling men who can barely tell the right end of the gun if they see one at a fucking fraction of the cost of _my_ men, to clients who don’t know the difference. And from what I heard, your success rate is almost 0, and you have to lie through your teeth to get paid. So, how about this? I buy all of your men for double whatever you’re asking for, and you leave my business alone. There are plenty of other ways for you guys to make money in this circuit, so I strongly suggest you start thinking of them while I’m still asking nicely.”

“No.” The look Pengfei levels at him is deadly serious as he stares Yukhei down. 

“What?” Yukhei snarls and Mark has to give credit to Pengfei for not flinching. 

“I said,” Pengfei pauses, reaching behind him to draw out a pistol, which he aims directly at Yukhei. “No.” Mark growls in warning, his eyes flashing, even as he hears Dejun and Kunhang unholster their own weapons. 

“You think I’m afraid of you, Yukhei?” Pengfei continues. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming in here with only three others, like we should be _afraid_ of you and some boys. Do you think you still rule this empire?” Pengfei laughs, his cackles echoing throughout the empty hallway. “This was your _father_ ’ _s_ empire. And he _died_ and left you with _nothing._ Didn’t even teach you how to pick your battles.” Pengfei tuts, mocking. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Yukhei growls. “You don’t know anything about my father.”

Pengfei shrugs nonchalantly, picking at a nonexistent speck of dust on his sleeve. “That may be the case, but what I do know is that you’re horribly outnumbered.”

The sound of footsteps fill the hallway as men come pouring out of the rooms adjacent to the landing and Mark can hear as Dejun and Kunhang swivel to face them. There aren’t even that many of them, maybe four flanking them on each side, but Pengfei is right, they _are_ outnumbered. 

Mark looks between the three groups of men, taking in the array of weaponry they have pointed at them — guns, knives, Mark swears he sees a club somewhere. Fuck. He can feel the rush of his blood as pounds in his ears and he tries to take a breath, to swallow, to do anything that will stop the blood from rushing to his head. Pink tinges the edges of his vision and he shakes his head to clear it. 

“Say goodbye to your empire, Wong Yukhei.” Pengfei is grinning even as Yukhei reaches for his own guns but Mark barely sees it. His gaze is trained on Pengfei and the gun in his hand. There is a click, the cocking of a gun and that’s all it takes — red floods his vision and he lunges. In a last moment of clarity, he knocks Pengfei’s hand away from Yukhei just before he fires and then it all goes downhill from there. 

Mark is no longer aware of anything save the rushing in his ears and the metallic taste in his mouth. He sinks his teeth into any warm body he can get his claws on, he doesn’t recognise anyone, he sees no one. He can’t even hear the screams of pain or the pattering of gunfire, all he knows is to hunt and to kill. He is a wildfire, he goes where his nose takes him, chasing the scent of anyone alive and until he’s taken down everything that’s dared to cross paths with him. Somewhere in the flurry of teeth and limbs, someone tries to slash at him, he can tell only from the glint of the blade in his redded out vision, but even then they are no match for him. His reflexes take him around the blade and then he’s sinking teeth into skin —his arm, his neck, anywhere, _everywhere_ . His mind chases a single entity — blood, blood, _blood_.

That’s how he comes to later, the stench of blood in his nose, the taste of iron in his mouth, the feeling of a still writhing body beneath him, and someone, somewhere, calling his name. The voice is familiar, warm, pulls him back from the precipice before he falls again. 

“Mark.” That’s his name, he remembers. Mark Lee. But that’s not the voice he usually wakes up to. _Wakes up to_ . Fuck. No no _no_ _._ It happened again. The body underneath him shudders and he yelps, jumping away from it only to land on top of another. He flinches and tries to back away from that one too, but his vision is only slowly returning and he ends up backing up into something.

“Mark.” No, _someone_. 

He tries to run away, hands and feet scrambling as he tries to feel out his surroundings but strong arms wrap around him and he can’t do more than struggle weakly against them. “Shh, Mark. Stop. It’s okay. It’s me, it’s Yukhei.” It takes a while for the words to register, relief washing over him when they finally do and he realises, he recognises. He grabs at Yukhei’s arms like a lifeline as he allows himself to sink into Yukhei’s hold, letting his warmth and scent envelop him. Yukhei says nothing, just holds him, one hand rubbing his back comfortingly until he calms down enough that the red in his vision finally recedes and his breathing evens out. 

“Yukhei?” His voice comes out weak and he clutches at Yukhei tighter, his hands fisting in Yukhei’s shirt. “Did I… Everyone…?”

Yukhei pulls him closer, remaining silent for a while before he exhales, his breath warm where he’s nuzzling into the crown of Mark’s head. “Yeah… You did. You got everyone, Mark.”

The confirmation of what he’d just done hits Mark like a battering ram, shattering the last of his resolve as he breaks down and cries. 

༺  ♛ ༻

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know I always leave things on cliffhangers, I'm sorry but I promise more will be explained in the next chapter. Also, just a **disclaimer** , while most of this has been inspired by the aforementioned artwork, the plot is still mine and will most likely deviate from the art at some point (so if you think the art will be giving you spoilers hehehe YOU THOUGHT). But in all seriousness, thank you so much for following this series and I hope you stay even when our plotlines start diverging ♥︎
> 
> For now though, thank you again! And I hope everyone is being safe and staying as sane as possible during these stressful times.
> 
> As usual, **kudos** and **comments** literally stoke my writing fire so don't be afraid to yell at me in the comments or on **[twitter](http://twitter.com/moonfleur_)** | **[CC](http://curiouscat.me/moonfleur_)**


	4. don't let me drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, once again, sorry for the horribly spaced updates BUT you are getting one now and there will probably be another one soon!♥︎ Also, as you may have noticed, I have changed the title of this fic because I just wasn't really feeling the original one but, I promise, nothing else about the content will change (it was just me needing to vibe that is all).
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for all the support for this fic. Hopefully, updates will come more often now that I've gotten back into the swing of writing :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you did, please leave a kudos or comment - they really motivate me to keep at this ♥︎
> 
> Today's chapter is based (loosely) off bits of [this](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1239045658910179328) and [this](https://twitter.com/puku2pang_/status/1239816859160940545)!

༺  ♛ ༻

That is how they remain, for a while, Yukhei’s shirt fisted tight in Mark’s hands as he heaves giant sobs into Yukhei’s chest. Yukhei says nothing through it all, remaining completely still save for the occasional circle rubbed into the small of Mark’s back while Mark cries, adrenaline bleeding out of him in the form of salt and water. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s getting dirt and various forms of bodily fluids all over Yukhei but he can’t bring himself to care in the moment, not when the reason behind them is still there, red tinges on the outskirts of his vision that pulse occasionally, threatening to take over.

Eventually, the sobs peter out and he takes a deep breath, Yukhei’s scent flooding his senses with a deep musk and traces of smoke as he wills himself to calm down further. He nuzzles a bit closer when he realises Yukhei’s scent helps to block out the sharp, metallic smell of iron that seems to be permeating everything else around them, and the movement seems to jolt Yukhei out of whatever daze he’d slipped in. His hand stills on the small of Mark’s back.

“Mark?” He whispers, gentle, careful even, like he’s afraid that his words will set Mark off again. And he is afraid, Mark can tell, can hear his heart racing underneath where Mark is pressed up against him, beating a cadence that seems to fall into step with Mark’s own. 

Mark hums in response, even though it comes out more like a whimper and he feels Yukhei’s arms tighten around him reflexively at the broken sound. “Hey.” Yukhei tries again. “How are you feeling?”

Mark takes another breath, wincing when it makes him shudder deep in his chest. “I’m okay. I think.” The words feel thick and heavy on his tongue and he realises that he can still taste iron in his mouth. It makes bile rise in the back of his throat and he has to force himself to swallow past it if he doesn’t want to end up hurling all over Yukhei. Tears are one thing, but he doesn’t think Yukhei will take too kindly if he adds anything else to his already-soaked shirt. 

“Are you sure? We can sit here for a bit more if you need to.” Yukhei shifts when he speaks and Mark’s senses are once again flooded by the metallic tang of blood and he flinches, burying his nose in the crook of Yukhei’s neck where his scent is the strongest. He breathes it in deeply, almost desperately, before answering with a shake of his head.

“No. I can’t— I don’t think I can stay here any longer. The smell…” He trails off and hopes that Yukhei gets the message.

He does. “Oh. Oh fuck,” he hisses, almost pulling away from Mark again but Mark keeps a firm grip on him this time. “Sorry—” he starts but Mark shakes his head.

“S’not your fault,” he says but he can feel Yukhei’s answering sigh, breath warm as it ghosts over the top of his head. 

“Still…” He trails off and Mark thinks he is trying to come up with some form of the counterargument that Mark really isn’t in the mood for but he doesn’t. Instead, all he says is a soft “can you stand?”

Mark nods, finally pulling away from Yukhei. He grimaces at the stench that hits him but allows himself to survey the damage for the first time that night as Yukhei pulls him to his feet. Bodies litter the ground of the landing, some of them soaking in pools of their own blood while others lie eyes glassy with barely a scratch on them save a single bite mark — the result of the venom running through Mark’s veins. A couple of them have knives sticking out of their chests, which Yukhei retrieves once he’s sure that Mark can stand by himself. Mark raises an eyebrow questioningly when Yukhei walks back to him, casually wiping the blades off on a body that lies folded in half over the railing overlooking the stairwell.

“Dejun’s,” he says with a small smile. “He couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

Mark can’t help but wince at the term and Yukhei’s eyes widen in a mixture of shock and mild horror. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Mark waves him off. “It’s fine. I get it. I just… really need to get this blood out of my mouth. Out of everything actually.”

Yukhei’s brow furrows but he nods in sombre understanding. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Let’s get you home then, okay?”

“Okay,” Mark breathes out, relieved, as he follows Yukhei back down the stairwell. “Thank you.”

Yukhei turns back to look at him, incredulous. “No, Mark. I should be thanking _you._ ”

“I— Me?” Mark asks, stopping short a couple of steps above Yukhei, allowing him to tower over the Triad leader for once. 

“Yes, you, Mark,” Yukhei answers, his tone a bit more serious now as he takes in what Mark is sure must be the look of confusion on his face. “You saved our lives, Mark. I hope you know that. I’m sorry that it happened the way it did but we were outnumbered and I _know_ that we wouldn’t be walking out of here tonight if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I didn’t—,” Mark stammers and breaks off, eyes wide as the realisation hits him. Yukhei huffs out a laugh as he takes a step closer, a step higher, putting them at eye level with each other. 

“You did. I still don’t know how or what happened with you but you did, and—” he pauses, hand reaching out to thumb at what must be a dried-out trail of blood on the side of his mouth. Mark’s skin tingles where he touches. “Maybe if you think about that instead, at least for now, it might be easier for you.”

Mark exhales when he realises what Yukhei is trying to tell him because he has a point. Unnecessary bloodshed aside, he guesses he did save them, and he holds onto that fact like a lifeline. 

“Y-Yeah… I guess you’re right.” He meets Yukhei’s eyes properly for the first time since the fight and is surprised by the concern he sees in them. “I’m glad, by the way. That you’re okay.” _That I didn’t hurt you._

Yukhei smiles at him, eyes glowing faintly in the darkness of the stairwell as he reaches up to ruffle the hair between his ears lightly. “I’m glad too. Now, let’s go. I think we’ve kept Dejun and Kunhang waiting long enough.”

༺  ♛ ༻

The ride back to Yukhei’s estate is uneventful, more uneventful than the drive out at least. Dejun and Kunhang had greeted them with nothing more than nods before they had jumped into the front seats, leaving the back seats to Yukhei and Mark like they had before. Mark watches the complete lack of interaction between the two and can’t help but wonder how much they saw, how much of _him_ did they see. He knows they’ve probably killed more people than Mark ever will but a part of him wonders, _worries._ Had he just proven all those hybrid stereotypes right? Was he really nothing more than an animal now, nothing more than his teeth, and claws, and stupid feral instincts?

He shakes his head as he tries to push the thoughts aside, ignoring the way that Yukhei looks at him when he does. Instead, he turns towards the window, watching as the shrubbery of the suburbs morphs into the concrete of the city, as they pass through that strange invisible line that separates the city from its outskirts. He hadn’t realised how far out they’d travelled but the time it takes for them to get back to the estate seems to stretch before him, longer than he’d expected, especially when he’s trying not to focus on the way his exhaustion seems to sink into him, moulding around him like everything else on his skin. He can feel the crustiness under his claws and the way the skin of his face is tight at certain points where the blood and tears have dried tracks into his skin. He doesn’t even want to think about his clothes, how soaked they are, how much they ( _he)_ reeks. The black fabric makes it hard to parse out just how bad the damage is but he can feel it, he can smell it, and it is making his head spin. 

He closes his eyes and lays his head on the window, the cool of the glass a huge relief against the searing heat of his skin, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him upon contact. His last thought, before the hum of the engine and the continuous pattern of building after building after building finally lulls him to sleep, is of the guarantee of a warm shower and the promise of sleep in a soft bed. 

He’s woken up some time later by the slamming of the car’s front doors as Kunhang and Dejun exit, Dejun opening up Yukhei’s door for him on his way to the boot. Mark groans as he lifts his head from the glass — it feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton balls except replace the cotton with lead and that’s probably a more accurate description of how everything feels for him right now. His pulse throbs in his temples and behind his eyes, and he really just wants to go back to sleep.

He startles when he feels a hand on his arm, whirling around to find Yukhei looking at him with the same unmasked concern he’d had in his eyes earlier in the stairwell. 

“Are you okay?” Yukhei’s voice is pitched low but once again the concern is there, so clear, and so completely unfamiliar to Mark who can count on one hand the number of times someone other than Taeyong has cared about him in any form. 

He nods silently in response, not trusting his mouth to form words in his current state, not when it feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. Yukhei studies him for a moment, gaze dark and piercing in a way that almost has Mark shying away from him, almost, and then the moment is gone and Yukhei is stepping out from the car without another word. 

Mark follows suit on his side, wincing when the door slams a bit too loudly and the sound rattles the balls inside his head a bit. Dejun and Kunhang have already unloaded most of their gear and are standing to one size, gazes flitting between him and each other in some sort of silent conversation. Mark would have been more interested if he wasn’t feeling the full weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him even more now that all the adrenaline in his system is well and truly gone. In fact, if they don’t start heading in soon Mark is sure he’s going to pass out on the ground of this dingy underground car park. 

“Dejun, take Mark back to his room. Kunhang, come with me, please.” Yukhei’s voice cracks like a whip, echoing in the emptiness of the car park and it cuts through Mark’s exhaustion a little. 

He glances back at Yukhei who gives him a nod before he heads into the building, Kunhang in tow.

“Come on,” Dejun says, redirecting Mark’s attention back to him. “Let’s get you back to your room.” He starts towards the same entrance Yukhei and Kunhang had just walked into, bags of equipment and weapons slung haphazardly around his body. “And don’t you even think about fainting on me or, I promise you, I’ll be dragging you back by your toes.”

That elicits a small huff of laughter from Mark, the most he can manage in his current state as he follows Dejun into the building. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

༺  ♛ ༻

Somehow, Mark manages to make it back to his room without collapsing even once, and he swears the sheer relief in Dejun’s voice was palpable when he’d bid him goodnight at his door. Mark, sadly, bypasses his bed as he makes straight for the bathroom knowing full well that there’s just too much _on_ him from the day for him to even think about sleeping comfortably in this state despite his body's constant protests telling him to just pass the fuck out. 

Reluctantly, he divests himself of his clothes, grimacing at the spots that have hardened and stuck to his skin. This is why he hates losing control, the aftermath is never pretty and he is almost always too exhausted to even function properly let alone take care of himself. He thinks of Taeyong and his heart aches with the sheer need to have someone there with him, to hold him steady, to hold him afloat, to just _hold_ him.

He bites back the tears that threaten to spill as he steps under the hot spray of the shower, he can’t afford a breakdown on top of everything that’s happened today. He will actually pass out then and poor Dejun will probably find him half-drowned against the cold grey tiles the next time he comes to get him. The image of himself passed out on the shower floor makes him snort and it gives the little burst of energy he needs to get himself cleaned up. 

He scrubs every inch of skin he can reach, ignoring the way the water runs red for the first few minutes. He washes himself once, and then again one more time for good measure allowing the warmth of the water soothe away the ache in his tired muscles as much as possible before he finally teps out. 

He is halfway through towelling himself dry when he realises that he hadn’t brought in a clean set of clothes. Not that he _minds_ really, it’s just messed with his system a little. Grumbling under his breath he wraps his towel loosely around his waist and slides open the bathroom door. Only to find himself face to face with a wide-eyed Yukhei, who had obviously been pacing the length of Mark’s room and who had, unfortunately, been in front of the bathroom at the exact moment Mark had opened the door. Mark lets out a strangled yelp at the sight as he jumps backward into the bathroom and slams the door shut. 

“What the fuck!” He yells through the door, uncaring that it’s probably dawn and that it is his _boss_ on the other side of the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. I just.. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” There’s a pause and Mark almost wonders if he’s done talking but he speaks again, his voice slightly softer this time. “And I brought you food.”

At the mention of food, Mark’s ears perk up and his tail swishes beneath the towel in anticipation. He’d forgotten about food in his rush to get back and get cleaned but the mere mention of it has him slowly being made aware of the hunger that is starting to gnaw at his belly. Carefully, he slides the bathroom door open an inch, just enough for him to peek through. 

“Did you say food?” He asks quietly. 

Yukhei looks up at the sound of his voice and Mark can’t help but notice that he’s also cleaned up. Dressed in nothing but sweats and a hoodie — all black as seems to be the norm with him — he looks the complete opposite of the Triad leader who had just taken him out on his first job. Yukhei meets his eye through the tiny gap, an apologetic smile curving on his lips. 

“Yeah. I figured you’d be hungry. And you don’t know the estate well enough to grab your own food so…” He trails off with a shrug, gesturing towards the plate currently sitting on the desk in a way that makes him look impossibly younger than Mark would have thought possible. 

“Thank you,” Mark replies, looking away. “I- Uh… I just need to grab some clothes and uh…” He gestures vaguely to the drawers underneath his bed. 

“Oh! Oh right, I’m sorry. I’ll just leave you to it then.” Yukhei turns to walk away, the back of his neck and ears tinged a light pink, but Mark stops him, his entire head slipping through the gap in the sliding door as he does. 

“Wait! Do you… Maybe… Would you like to join me? I mean, you don’t have to. I was just uh- wondering. Unless you’ve already eaten! Which is fine, I can just—” Mark bites his lip when he realises he’s babbling, cutting himself off mid-sentence. Yukhei turns to look at him, an eyebrow quirking in mild amusement. 

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs, ears flattening against his head in embarrassment. “I didn’t— I mean, I hope I'm not overstepping or anything.”

“That’s fine, Mark,” Yukhei laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling in mirth much to Mark’s mortification. “I actually haven’t had anything to eat yet, so if you really don’t mind…”

“Yeah, of course!” Mark gestures towards the table with the one hand that isn’t currently holding himself in place behind the sliding door. “Make yourself… uh… comfortable. But also…”

“I won’t look,” Yukhei reassures him as he takes a seat at the desk, back pointedly facing Mark. “Get dressed, then we can eat.”

Mark is a mess as he scrambles to retrieve a clean set of clothes from his drawers without exposing himself unnecessarily. His mind is simultaneously exhausted and running at a hundred miles an hour because he’d just asked Wong Yukhei, Triad leader and his soon-to-be boss to have _breakfast_ with him. Or is it supper? Mark groans as he lets his head fall against the giant mirror that takes up almost the entirety of one wall in the bathroom. He blames the exhaustion, and the hunger. His stomach growls traitorously and he glares at it. Reluctantly, he pulls on his own hoodie, gives himself a cursory once-over in the mirror and says goodbye to the idea of instantly passing out in his bed as he steps out of the bathroom. 

Yukhei is true to his word, having remained resolutely facing the wall opposite his desk until Mark tells him that he’s done. Yukhei swivels around to meet him and that is when Mark notices the exhaustion that lines Yukhei’s face, shadows dark under the eyes that watch him as he draws nearer. He frowns, coming to a stop just in front of Yukhei. 

“You didn’t have to stay, you know? You look like you could use some rest.” 

Yukhei snorts, a small sound that has Mark’s tail twitching in surprise. “Speak for yourself, Mark. You look like death.” His expression wavers then, dimming as he takes in the state that Mark is in and Mark has to resist the urge to cross his arms against his chest. Yukhei's hand twitches as if he wants to reach for Mark but he doesn’t, instead, he continues.

“I’m serious though. You look like you’ve been through hell, which I guess you kinda have.” He chuckles but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. “But I just wanted to make sure you got some food and water down you.”

There is something more that Yukhei wants to say, Mark can see it in the tension lining his frame, in the look in his eyes. So he waits, tail swishing against his legs in mild anticipation. Yukhei looks up at him and Mark cocks his head to the side questioningly, which has Yukhei groaning under his breath. “Fine. And I wanted to make sure you were okay, after what happened to you back there.”

Mark crosses his arms and studies Yukhei, at the way he’s looking back at him, gaze imploring, unspoken questions buried there, just beneath the surface. “You want to know what happened.” It’s not a question, but Yukhei nods anyway. 

Mark sighs. He knew this was coming, the curiosity had been there all night, in every single gaze, simmering silently but never really hidden. He’s grateful, at least, that Yukhei had waited until now to ask, or _not_ ask, as it were. 

“Okay,” he says as he perches himself on the edge of the desk. He grabs one of the steamed buns from the plate that Yukhei must have brought up, and takes a bite as he gathers his thoughts — he’s never really had to talk about it before, the only other person in the world who knows is Taeyong, and they’ve never really had to explain it to anyone else before. 

He swallows the mouthful of steamed bun before speaking. “We call it the bloodrage. Yongie… Taeyong, my brother, believes it has something to do with the strength of my venom but we’ve never really had the chance to actually get it tested.” He takes a deep breath. “Basically, I lose all control. Over everything. And I go into like this frenzy and when I’m in there I don’t know anything. I can’t tell people apart. I’ll rip into anyone if they’re in front of me.”

“Fuck,” Yukhei breathes. 

“Yeah,” Mark answers, grabbing another bun off the plate before nudging it towards Yukhei, who blinks up at him for all of two seconds before grabbing one as well. Mark watches in amazement as Yukhei wolfs it down in two bites before Yukhei turns back to him with more questions in his eyes.

“So… That could have been us back there? I mean I had a feeling you kind of... _snapped,_ but I didn’t think we were in any real danger.”

“You guys were lucky. I could have killed you.” Mark sinks to the ground by Yukhei’s feet, back propped up against one of the table legs as he picks at the skin of his bun. He looks back up at Yukhei, who is watching him wordlessly. “I haven’t had an episode like this in a long time.”

Yukhei frowns. “Does that mean you have it under control?”

Mark shakes his head. “Had. But it’s always been Yongie. He knows how to pull me back before I really, _really_ , tip over the edge. Somehow, in that state, my mind still recognises his voice and it listens to him. He’s the only reason I haven’t actually killed anyone in the fighting ring.” Mark laughs, dry and brittle at the irony. 

“So, what does that mean for you, now?” Mark turns to look up at Yukhei, and he can practically see the gears turning in his head because this Mark knows this makes him a liability now. Or it should anyway. 

Mark shrugs. “I don’t know, really. I don’t even know what really sets it off, even though we’re pretty sure it’s mainly triggered by instinct or self-preservation.”

“But before, it wasn’t you that they were attacking.”

Mark levels a look at him. “They were going to shoot you.”

“That’s not self-preservation.” 

“Look, I’m not gonna pretend I know any more about it than what I’ve just told you,” Mark says, praying that his frustration isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is. “But what I do know is that, when all was said and done, _you_ managed to bring me out of it.”

“I— What?” Yukhei gapes at him, the half-eaten bun in his hand momentarily forgotten. 

“You brought me out of it before,” Mark repeats. “It was you. I heard a voice calling my name and when I came back to myself, you were there.” Mark’s cheeks burn at the memory of Yukhei's arms around him and he looks away, flushing even harder when he realises how long he’d spent after that _crying_ into his boss’ shirt. Fuck. 

“So, you’re saying that,” Yukhei begins, words coming out slow as he processes the implications of what Mark’s just told him. “What your brother did for you, _I_ can do that?” His tone is incredulous and Mark can’t help but think he looks like a child who’s just been told that his present is the biggest one in the Christmas pile. It is… oddly endearing — a thought Mark immediately shelves for never again. 

“I guess?” He answers finally, looking away to tug at a loose thread on his sweats. “I mean, I can’t be sure that it will happen again but it did happen.” He pauses. “I understand if this means you want to rescind your offer though.”

“Wait, what? What are you saying?” Yukhei’s wide-eyed incredulity morphs into confusion in an instant. “Why would I?”

Mark looks at him in disbelief. “Because I’m dangerous? Because I’m a loose canon? Because I could _hurt_ you, Yukhei.”

Yukhei scoffs and there is a flicker there in his expression, a return of the man who had pinned him to the table, eyes of dark silver glinting just enough to remind him who exactly he’s talking to. But it is gone in an instant, replaced by darkness and a warmth that surprises him. “You can’t hurt me. You should know that by now.” Yukhei scoots down from his chair to kneel in front of him. “If anything, I think this makes you even more valuable now.”

Mark sniffs and looks away from Yukhei’s piercing gaze. “Just so you know, I hate it — not being able to control myself. So please, whatever you’re thinking, just don’t… Don’t make me enter it on purpose. I don’t want…” He takes a deep shuddering breath as he is assaulted by the memory of everything he’d just done that night — screams ring in his ears and he tastes metal on his tongue. He buries his head in his hands as he tries to push the images away. 

In an instant, Yukhei’s hands are on him, fingers warm and gentle as they card through his hard and cup his cheek until their gazes meet. “Hey, I won’t do that to you, okay? I promise. I saw how it affected you tonight. I’m not an asshole.” Mark huffs out a breath, ears flattening against his head, and Yukhei chuckles. “Okay, maybe I am. But not to you. And not with this.” He brushes a thumb against Mark’s cheek and Mark sighs, allowing himself just this once to relax into the touch. 

“I just meant that this doesn’t make you any less useful to me. And it doesn’t mean I want you any less.” Mark freezes for a second, eyes widening at the double entendre but Yukhei either doesn’t realise or doesn’t care, but Mark is suddenly all too aware of their close proximity and he has to fight the urge to back away from him.

“Y-Yeah. That’s… Yeah, I got it,” Mark stammers out finally, tearing himself away from Yukhei. “Thank you. For understanding.”

“Of course. But thank you, also, for telling me. And, I guess, not killing me?” 

Mark snorts but he offers Yukhei a small smile, which Yukhei returns as he stands up off the floor. Mark follows suit, declining the hand that Yukhei offers for the sake of his sanity. 

“I’ll let you get some sleep now, Mark.” He reaches his hand out absently as if to give Mark a scratch behind his ears before freezing. 

The hesitance in his actions makes Mark smile, head tilting slightly as he looks between Yukhei's still-outstretched arm and his the uncertainty in his expression. “You can, you know.”

Yukhei’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. “Are you sure?”

Mark nods, head dipping slightly to give Yukhei better access, not that he needs it considering that he already stands a whole head taller than Mark. Yukhei’s touch is gentle as he scratches lightly at _that one spot_ behind his ears and Mark honest-to-god _whines_. He clamps a hand over his mouth in embarrassment and Yukhei laughs. 

“You like it, I see.”

The flush that races up his neck and face is answer enough and Yukhei laughs even more, a warm sound that makes even the corners of Mark’s lip twitch upwards despite his current embarrassment. “Noted,” he says and Mark, honestly, just wants to die. “Now, get some rest.”

He gives Mark one last scratch behind his ears, which sends a shiver down his spine, before he heads for the door. 

“Goodnight, Mark.” He calls out softly, as the door clicks shut behind him.

“Goodnight, Yukhei.”

༺  ♛ ༻

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter in any way, please kudos and comment, I always love to hear your thoughts! (ꈍ ᴗ ꈍ✿) 
> 
> **[twitter](https://twitter.com/moonfleur_) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/moonfleur_)**


	5. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter has been a long time coming but it is finally here, as promised! She is a bit beefier than the others but you will understand why when you read it. As always, thank you so much for reading and loving this fic & I hope you enjoy ♥︎

Taeyong can only watch helplessly as Mark gets taken further into the giant warehouse, his figure disappearing into its decrepit blackness as he rounds a far corner. Taeyong snarls, straining once more against the collar around his neck as he bares his teeth at the men restraining him but they do not budge. In fact, they barely pay him any attention, their gazes locked onto the emptiness in front of them like mannequins. Mannequins with stupidly strong grips. 

Taeyong tenses his body, readying himself to put up more of a fight when he feels cold metal press against his temple. “Move again, dog, and I’ll shoot you where you stand.” The guy who had threatened them earlier stands above him, grin revealing empty spaces in between teeth that has Taeyong’s upper lip curling in mild disgust. “Your brother agreed to go for your safety. It would be  _ such a shame _ if his actions were for nothing.”

Taeyong bares his teeth at him, eyes flashing a dangerous gold. “Then make good on your promise, asshole. Let me go!”

The man leers at him. “Oh, we will. As long as we get the go-ahead from our boss.”

Taeyong pales, blood immediately running cold.  _ Boss? _ He had thought these guys were simply thugs, more owners of fighting rings that had heard of Mark’s  _ talents _ maybe but if there was a  _ boss _ involved, this could mean something far bigger than anything he’d been anticipating. 

“What do you mean ‘boss’?” He snaps, praying hard that his nervousness isn’t showing in his voice. “Who are you working for? And what does he want with my brother?”

The man chuckles darkly as he takes Taeyong in, lightly tapping his pistol against the side of Taeyong’s jaw as he does so. “That is need-to-know only. And you, you stupid mutt, don’t need to know.” He hooks the barrel of the revolver underneath the muzzle, forcing Taeyong to look at him. “Now, shut the fuck up and stop asking questions or we’ll knock you out again.”

Taeyong lets out one final growl but he acquiesces, sitting back on his haunches as he watches the patch of darkness Mark had disappeared into. 

Everyone seems to be watching it, it seems. All the goons have their eyes trained on the same spot, their bodies tense like coiled springs as if they are waiting for some kind of signal. It makes him thrum with nervous anticipation and he has to resist the urge to squirm. If they had ears like his, Taeyong is sure that they would all be directed towards that one spot. 

Even the meathead with the pistol hasn’t wavered, gaze fixed on that chunk of blackness like he’s been possessed, even while he’s kept the gun annoyingly trained on Taeyong. Taeyong doesn’t know how much time has passed, can only count it in the occasional drip of water from a leaking pipe somewhere or in the way he can feel the cold from the ground slowly make its way into him through the loose material covering his knees. 

He scowls, looking down at the dirt coating the surface of his pants — these were his  _ good _ set of pyjamas. He fights the urge to dust it off, sure that any sudden movement will put a bullet in his head quicker than he can speak, and he can’t risk that. Not if he wants to make sure that Mark is okay. 

The cold has finally started to settle in his bones when he picks up the footsteps headed towards them, their sounds echoing in the large, cavernous expanse of the warehouse, and he immediately perks up — eyes and ears trained on the corner he’d seen Mark disappear behind. He knows the footsteps have yet to fall within the range of normal human hearing but the thugs react to his movement, the one holding the leash giving it a warning tug when he notices Taeyong stiffen. 

The man with the pistol tightens his hold around it when he finally hears the steps and Taeyong freezes, his heart hammering in his chest as he waits for the person to round the corner. 

The racing of his heart is immediately halted when he realises that the man who rounds the corner is definitely  _ not _ Mark. Taeyong doesn’t know why he is so surprised, doesn’t know what he’d been expecting really because  _ of course, _ it wouldn’t be Mark.  _ Not Mark _ comes to a stop just beyond the bend of the corner and nods, once, almost imperceptibly, before he’s turning on his heel and returning the way he’d come. 

“Looks like you’re in luck, mutt,” the man with the gun says as he turns towards him looking more than a little smug. Taeyong has never wanted to rip into someone so much in his life. “Our boss is pleased with your brother. I guess this means you get to go home.” 

Taeyong’s blood curdles at his words.  _ Pleased? _ What does that mean? What do they want with Mark? Taeyong has to bite back the questions that sit, restless, on his tongue because he knows it will earn him nothing more than a swift knock to the back of his head. He settles for shooting the man a glare instead, the tips of his fangs bared just enough to get his message across. 

The man snorts, lip quirking in amusement. “Snarl all you want, you can’t get me through that muzzle and that’s only coming off once you’re back out on the streets where you belong.” He looks back up at the men holding him. “Throw him in the back. We’ll dump him somewhere along the way and he can find his own way from there.”

༺ ♛ ༻

Taeyong is dumped unceremoniously on a dirty sidewalk at some point following their leave of the warehouse. They toss him out the back of the van, a gun trained on him the entire time they’re removing the muzzle and even after — all the way until they’re tucked away safely within the metal walls of the vehicle. 

Taeyong watches it drive off, noting forlornly the blank license plate — not like a numbered license plate would have made any difference not when that would just mean that they’d stolen the vehicle. Sighing, he picks himself up off the floor, shivering slightly when the biting night wind cuts right through his pathetic t-shirt and pyjama bottoms combination. He makes to dust off his knees but there really is no point, not when he is already covered in dirt and grime. 

He looks around, searching for a landmark — a building, a sign, anything — that will tell him where exactly he is but there is nothing save for the desolate facades of old buildings that stare down at him through dark empty windows. Chain-linked fences line the rest of the streets around him, warning signs plastered all over their surfaces but there is nothing else. If there were street signs, they’d long-since been taken down. 

A dog barks in the distance, startling Taeyong, and he is reminded that he is a hybrid stranded in what must be one of the seediest sectors of the city. Even though it looks like dawn is fast approaching, the edges of the sky already turning blue from where he can make out the sky between the buildings, he figures it would probably be safer if he found a way out of this sector as soon as possible. 

He starts towards one end of the street, the one that ends in a street with working streetlights, and almost heaves a sigh of relief when he is rewarded with a single street sign. It is nothing spectacular, bent almost entirely out of shape but still whole, the words on it barely discernible — Sector 18, Row 27. 

Sector 18. He can’t remember the last time he was out this far from the city centre — him and Mark having always chosen convenience over quality; even if it meant living in squalor, they always picked somewhere in the City Center. Although their housing choice is the furthest thing from convenient right now. Taeyong groans, rubbing his face in frustration as he searches the area around him for any sign of transportation — a bus stop or a subway station at least. He knows every sector has their own subway stop but Taeyong is empty-handed, everything he’s ever owned left in their apartment back in the city. 

He  _ could _ walk, with the way the city is shaped — sectors laid out in rings around the city centre — all he needs to do is get onto a main road and head East but it will probably take him hours and there is nothing worse than being a hybrid out in broad daylight, especially in the state he’s in. He shudders, already feeling the stares he knows he will get if he chooses to walk through the inner rings. There’s another gust of wind, stronger this time and harsher, enough to make him curl in on himself slightly, his tail wrapping around his body in a poor attempt to shield him from its sting.

_ Fuck it _ , he thinks, and heads in a direction he hopes will take him to the main road. From what he knows, subway entrances always lie on the main road, so as long as he manages to get to it by the time the trains start running he should be fine. He’ll have to jump the barricades but it won’t be the first time. At least, at this hour, he shouldn’t have an audience. 

Taeyong lets instinct guide him toward his destination, another perk of being a hybrid he supposes. The streets remain deserted but he can hear as the sector’s inhabitants start to rise, especially when he passes through the few housing areas. He can pick up the faint smell of coffee on the wind, even over the stench of the street, and the murmur of voices as people awaken and start going about their day. 

Taeyong is sure, if it were under any other circumstances, that he would have enjoyed a walk like this, along empty streets on the cusp of dawn. As it is, he is chilled down to the bone, his teeth had started chattering a good five minutes back, and his exhaustion is making him feel like he’s been hit by a truck. That all culminates in the most embarrassing noise he’s ever made in all twenty-five years of his life when he finally spots the entrance to the station in all its rusted metal and peeling paint glory. He can barely make out the ‘18’ on the sign anymore but he doesn’t care, he quickens his pace and rushes down the stairs.

He squints against the fluorescent lighting, harsh after the darkness of the streets, his eyes searching immediately for the board that will tell him how long till the next city centre train. Three minutes.  _ Perfect _ . Now, all he has to do is wait until the board shows an ‘arriving’ instead, that should give him enough time to vault the gantries and make it onto the train just before the doors close — a useful trick he had learnt following several near misses when he’d gone over too early and almost wound up getting caught by the station guards. Of course, those were the inner ring stations, where they  _ had _ guards. He looks around, noting the emptiness of the station, the only other person around being the very disinterested-looking ticket attendant who looks like he’s been permanently melded to his booth chair. Taeyong smiles to himself, eyes going back to the board to watch the minutes tick down.

He hears the rumble before he sees the time change, feels it as the train shakes the foundations of the station upon its arrival. With one final glance at the ticket attendant, he launches himself towards the barriers, his hybrid reflexes allowing him to remain silent as he goes up and over the gantries that lead to the platform. He hears a shout from behind him but he ignores it, dashing down the escalators two at a time until he reaches the platform. The train is there, doors wide open, the light above them flashing red — an indicator that the doors will be closing soon. Taeyong puts on a last burst of speed and manages to slip past the closest set of doors just before they slide shut.

Breathing heavily, he collapses onto the nearest seat, relief flooding through him when he realises the compartment is empty. He groans as he allows himself to relax for the first time that night, head falling back against the less-than-sanitary headrest. Outside the window, the walls of the tunnel rush by — mostly darkness punctuated by the occasional billboard ad. He allows the rattle of the train against the tracks and the alternating light and dark outside the window to lull him into a stupor. Despite his attempts to remain awake, his eyes fall shut eventually and he ends up slipping into a fitful sleep.

It is a horrible feeling, being woken up by the harsh, grating voice of the train driver over the intercom announcing that the city centre is the final stop. He ends up jerking awake so violently that he smacks his head on the window — one horrible feeling after another in his string of already horrible feelings he’s felt in the last twelve hours. Grumbling under his breath, he presses a hand to the spot and forces himself out of his seat and the train. 

The city centre, or Sector 1, station is a lot more familiar to him even if he rarely takes public transport. Unfortunately, being the business and commercial sector, Sector 1 has guards and, at this time of the morning, the station is pretty much a ghost town except for the occasional office worker. This means that not only does he stick out like the biggest, brightest lightbulb, it also means that there are fewer people he can use as veritable dimmer switches. So he takes his time, he watches how the guards make their rounds, where their paths cross and where their paths don’t. While he watches, he can't help but notice the stark differences between this station and the one he’d just left. 

Sector 18 had been dirty, scum-stained walls underneath a shower of harsh fluorescent lighting, the scent of  _ human _ and drainage tainting every surface, coating them like grease. Taeyong can still smell it on himself now, it makes his stomach churn. But Sector 1, Sector 1 is opulent where 18 had been absolute destitution — marble floors gleam and reflect the warm overhead lighting, its walls scrubbed a spotless, pristine white, and the smells that waft past hint at the coffee and food stands that line the entrance into the station proper. 

Taeyong knows that he doesn’t fit in here, especially not in his dirt-stained pyjamas, and the longer he stays here the higher the chance the guards will notice him. He watches for another minute, noting the moment the guards pass each other with a nod in the middle of the foyer. He mentally calculates the distance he will have to run to lose them and then he’s off. 

He sprints (for the second time that morning) towards the disgustingly gilded gantries, these ones slightly higher than the ones at 18 so much so that he nearly clips himself going over the top. He can hear the sound of the guards’ footsteps behind him, their pounding almost in time with the blood rushing in his ears, and it forces himself to go faster. 

There’s a spot he knows he can duck into to lose them, a little alcove in an alley just across the road from the station. So that is where he goes, dodging the occasional pedestrian to round the corner just out of sight of the guards. He ducks into the shallow space and falls against the wall of the alcove, his breathing shallow and his vision threatening blackness around the edges. He shakes his head to clear it, willing himself to take deep breaths despite the ache in his chest and the roaring in his ears. He’s made it this far, it would do him no good if he collapses here. 

So he waits, ears at attention for the slightest sound or footfall entering the alley but the guards run past — like he knew they would — and he heaves a sigh of relief. He waits until he hears them walk back, and then he waits some more just to be sure before he allows himself to leave his hiding spot. By now, the sky has lightened to a pale blue and he knows he has about less than an hour before the sun truly rises and the morning crowd starts to swarm the streets. Being a hybrid, getting caught in a crowd like that is a nightmare Taeyong doesn’t have the strength for at the moment. So, giving his surroundings one final check, Taeyong takes a deep breath and legs it. 

༺ ♛ ༻

The apartment is a mess when he gets back. He calls it an apartment, but really it is just a large room with a barely functioning en-suite on the top floor of an old townhouse that sits on the outskirts of the sector. The old lady who owns the place had been nice enough to let them stay as long they worked off their rent but even she had shot Taeyong the most disapproving look when he’d walked in covered in dirt and the horrific smells of the outer rings. That look had said it all; he knew that she’d let him stay long enough to pack up, maybe take a shower, but that would be it. 

Sighing, he crosses the threshold, wincing when the doorknob comes loose in his hands. A small part of him feels bad for the old lady, she really had been nice to them — one of the nicest actually — and he’d brought all of  _ this  _ to her doorstep. He stops for a moment to take in the result of their scuffle. The desk below the window is completely upended, its contents strewn all across the floor; their beds have been ripped from their spots against the wall, blankets on the floor; not to mention the now permanently-open window that they had escaped through. There is a sharp tinkling sound under his feet and he groans, they’d only had one good lamp to begin with. 

He eyes the beds, body aching to collapse into it, scratchy sheets and all but he knows that if he does that he won’t be moving for the next twelve hours at least and he can’t afford to stay here. Whoever took them knew who they were and knew where to find them, which means this place isn’t safe anymore. 

Shoving his exhaustion down, Taeyong starts to rifle through the place, grabbing anything of value and shoving them into the overnight bag he always leaves half-packed at the foot of his bed. They don’t have much anyway, between the two of them, never keeping more than they can carry, just in case. He pulls out some of his clothes so that he can fit both his and Mark’s things into the bag. 

His fingers brush against something hard under Mark’s pillow and he freezes for a millisecond before he pulls it out. A phone.  _ Mark’s _ phone. Taeyong’s breath hitches as his fingers tighten around the mobile device. The screen lights up at his touch, revealing the photo of the two of them Mark uses as his lock screen and that’s when it finally hits him, like a bowling ball against the pins in his chest and his breath leaves him in a dry heaving sob. Distantly, he’s vaguely aware of his knees hitting the floor but it is something so far away, especially now when his mind is tunnel visioning as it comes to terms with the fact that his brother is gone.  _ Taken. _

“Fuck,” he half sobs as he falls against the bed, sheets scratchy under his forehead where he’s leaning against it. “Fuck!” His fist connects with the metal frame of the bed, slamming it back against the wall with a sound so loud it makes his ears ring but he doesn’t care, doesn’t even flinch. He’d been counting on the fact that Mark would have had his phone on him, having never seen his brother without his phone for most of their lives and yet here it lies, cold and surprisingly fully-charged in the palm of his hand. Trust that the one time Mark doesn’t have his phone will be the one time he actually needs it. 

Taeyong lets out a huff of laughter that sounds so broken even to his own ears. He thumbs at the button again, fingers dancing across the screen as he tries to imprint their faces — happier, brighter,  _ together _ — into his mind. They’ve never been apart, he realises, as he stares at the screen. Not once in their entire lives, not for this long anyway, and It is weird. It is like someone had taken a saw to his limbs and then left him to figure out how to live without them and, the worst part of it all is that he doesn’t know if he  _ can _ . 

Tears, hot, heavy, and so very angry — at himself, at the men that took Mark, at everything really — well in his eyes but he brushes them away. He can cry later. Right now, he needs to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can focus on finding out who exactly took Mark. He feels something spark in the back of his mind, a little pinprick of an idea beginning to form and he shoots up from the floor with such speed that he nearly falls back on the bed when the room starts to spin. 

He steadies himself against the wall before reaching to shove both their phones into the overnight bag when there is a soft rap on the door. His ears perk up and he glances towards the door, still slightly ajar from when he’d entered, and finds his landlady standing there a small plate in her hands. The smell of kimchi fried rice wafts over him and he almost drools all over the floor. 

“I figured you hadn’t eaten yet,” she says. The fire that he had seen in her eyes when he’d returned is dimmer now, but it flares again when she takes in the state of his room. 

It has him instantly lowering his head as he accepts the plate of food, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I’m sorry too.” 

Taeyong’s head shoots up in surprise but she merely glances at where his overnight bag sits, almost bursting to the rim now that it is full of his and Mark’s belongings, and he understands. 

“It’s okay,” he returns. “Thank you. For everything.” 

She says nothing, but the sad smile on her face as she gives his shoulder a squeeze says more than enough. Taeyong watches her leave with a fond expression; she was a rarity, a human who had chosen to take in two hybrid boys out of the goodness of her heart and he knows that he wouldn’t have stayed even if she had let him. 

After she leaves, he is moving again, wolfing down his food, barely pausing to breathe in between bites, as his hunger finally hits him. He is done within minutes and he can’t help but think as he glances down at the empty plate that he could probably do with another two more of these. But he knows the landlady’s generosity will not extend  _ that _ far, she has other mouths to feed after all. 

Once he is done, he grabs a set of clean clothes from the set of the drawers by the door and jumps into the shower. It is a horrible shower, as far as showers go — the water never heats up fast enough so it is always cold, and he doesn’t have enough time to properly scrub the dirt from his skin. It irks him but it will have to do. At least the coldness of the shower helps to wake him up a little, even though the exhaustion is still there, straining uncomfortably against the backs of his eyes and seeping into his muscles. He can feel it weighing him down. 

He leaves the same way they left last night — through the window — but not before he attempts to put the room back the way it had been before. It doesn’t work out so well but it is the least he can do for her anyway. 

The streets feel different in the day, and even though he has his ears tucked into a beanie and his tail is hidden by his jacket he can’t help but feel like everyone who walks past him, who looks at him,  _ knows.  _ Their gazes are palpable, he feels them like tiny presses of fingers on his skin, and it makes him itch. He knows it’s mostly in his mind, a product of the many years he’s spent being scrutinised by humans for their enjoyment, but it unsettles him just the same. It is the main reason he prefers being out at night, fewer people, less prying eyes. 

He keeps his head down, hands in the pockets of his jacket as he makes the familiar trek through the back streets of the city, only ever stopping at stoplights. His nose picks up the familiar scents of the city, mainly the stale smell of people but he’ll get the occasional whiff of another hybrid. Their smells are always different, but the look in their eyes is always the same — there is always a certain kind of weariness and fear but that is usually followed by understanding on the occasions that their eyes meet, a sort of unspoken solidarity, like recognises like. He misses Mark more in these moments, the absence of his scent making Taeyong feel just unsettled enough, like he’d just spun around on the spot ten times and he’s still trying to find his balance, like his world has been knocked a few degrees off its axis. 

He gets to his destination, an older-looking apartment block on the other edge of the sector, somewhere around mid-morning. The world around him is truly awake now but he knows that that might not be the case for the man whose doorstep he’s just arrived on. There is no turning back for him though, so he hopes for the best when he knocks on the door, flakes of grey paint falling to the floor upon impact. He watches them fall to the ground as he waits, listening for any sign of movement from the other side of the door. When he hears nothing he sighs, forehead thumping against the door. He really should have called ahead but he knows that whatever —  _ whoever —  _ is on the other side of that door, the only direction he’s going is  _ in. _

He takes a deep breath, raises his fist, and is about to pound on the door when he finally hears shuffling from the other side. It’s slow, unsteady, and Taeyong knows he’s just woken him up but he’ll have to deal with it. Taeyong just hopes he’s alone today, he’s not really in the mood to kick someone out but he will if he has to.

There’s a clatter of chains against the door followed by the sound of locks clicking and then the door swings open to reveal a man, half-asleep, hair cow-licked to death and clad in nothing except a pair of baggy sweatpants the same colour as the door. He squints at Taeyong for all of one second before his eyes widen in a way that would have been comical had it been under other circumstances. 

“Yong? Holy shit, what are you doing here? And why do you look like death?”

Taeyong glares at him but it’s half-hearted and they both know it. “Let me in first, then maybe I’ll tell you.”

The man narrows his eyes but he opens the door wider and beckons Taeyong into the apartment. It is old, but it is big, the living area at least double the size of the room he had been living in. Taeyong knows that the hallway leading away from the living room will take him to the bedroom but he makes straight for the couch instead. 

“You alone today, Jaehyun? Or will I have to kick your poor, unsuspecting hook up out. Again.” Taeyong shoots a tired grin over his shoulder. 

Jaehyun snorts but shakes his head. “It’s just me today. And I swear, Yong, that was just  _ one time.  _ It’s not like I have someone over every other night.”

Taeyong dumps his bag on the couch before turning around, arms crossing as he levels Jaehyun a pointed look, allowing his eyes to travel lazily over Jaehyun’s body before he returns then to his face. It is a nice face, Taeyong knows, nice body too.

“Now, we both know that’s not true, Jae.” There’s a smile playing on his lips and Jaehyun groans.

“It’s literally ten in the morning, Yong. You know I don’t function before noon.”

Taeyong laughs. “Don’t worry. That’s not what I’m here for.” The smile falls from his face instantly when he thinks about the reason he is currently in Jaehyun’s apartment instead of his own. “Jae…”

Arms are around him before he can even think about finishing that sentence and he melts into the contact, the smell of sandalwood and fire immediately soothing away some of the tension. It’s weird, Jaehyun has always smelled nice, for a human anyway, and Taeyong has never really understood it, but he’s thankful for it now. Jaehyun runs a hand through Taeyong’s hair, gently scratching at that sweet spot right between his ears and he relaxes even more, pressing his face into Jaehyun’s chest as he winds his arms around him. 

“What happened, Yong?” Jaehyun asks after a minute. “Why are you here? Where’s Mark?”

Taeyong’s grip tightens around Jaehyun upon hearing Mark’s name and Jaehyun immediately resumes his ministrations in Taeyong’s hair, his gentle touch helping Taeyong calm down a little. “They took him, Jae.” Taeyong’s voice trembles and he has to take a deep breath before he continues. “They took Mark.”

Jaehyun freezes before he pulls away from Taeyong to look at him. “What do you mean they took him?  _ Who _ took him? Took him  _ where? _ ” There’s a crease forming between Jaehyun’s brows as he studies Taeyong, almost as if he’s expecting Taeyong to pull Mark out from a bag somewhere with a loud ‘surprise’. 

“I don’t  _ know _ , Jae. They came in the middle of the night and they knocked us out and took us—,”

“Us?” Jaehyun’s really frowning now, and pulling away completely so that he can properly inspect Taeyong, eyes trailing over his entire body as though he’s searching for injuries. “What do you mean  _ ‘us’? _ Taeyong did they take you too? Jesus Christ, is this why you look like you haven’t slept in days?”

When Taeyong offers nothing more than a grimace, he is immediately manhandled and taken straight to the bedroom where Jaehyun deposits him on the bed. Taeyong starts to protest, hands clawing at Jaehyun to shove him off when Jaehyun tries to tuck him in. But he is exhausted and really no match for Jaehyun, who works out on a regular basis and could probably bench twice of Taeyong and then some. 

“Let me go, Jae. I need to find out where they’ve taken Mark!” His hand remains in a death grip around the arm Jaehyun is using to hold him down but his words come out weak, the softness of the bed already lulling him into semi-consciousness. 

Jaehyun shakes his head but releases him so that he can sit down beside him on the bed. “You can do that once you’ve gotten some sleep. You’re no good to him in this state anyway, Yong.”

Taeyong scowls. “You don’t know that.”

“Taeyong, in case you haven’t realised, you’re literally two seconds away from passing out. Just get some sleep, you can tell me everything when you wake up.”

Taeyong grumbles but he knows Jaehyun is right, his eyes are refusing to stay open anyway. “Fine,” he says eventually but he reaches a hand out to grab Jaehyun’s wrist before he can get up. “Stay?”

Jaehyun huffs out a fond laugh as he cards his fingers through Taeyong’s hair one more time. “Of course.”

He climbs over Taeyong to get to the other side of the bed before slipping under the covers and sidling up to Taeyong. Taeyong is already half asleep but he turns towards Jaehyun and allows him to pull them closer. They fit together easily, Taeyong throwing an arm over Jaehyun’s waist as he nuzzles closer, allowing Jaehyun’s scent to wash over him. It’s always been like this for them, easy, comfortable, Jaehyun tracing lazy circles into his hip as he slips under. Taeyong is almost overwhelmed by how grateful he is for Jaehyun in that moment. 

“Thank you, Jae,” he breathes out softly into the space between them. 

He gets a press of lips against his crown in response along with a “go to sleep, Yong.”

Taeyong falls asleep with a smile on his face. 

༺ ♛ ༻

When Taeyong wakes up Jaehyun is gone but Taeyong can hear him moving around outside, the clanging of metal on metal and the savoury scent in the air indicating that he is attempting to put together some sort of meal. His stomach grumbles and Taeyong groans as he forces himself to sit up, ignoring the way his body immediately protests against the effort. 

Everything  _ hurts _ . Taeyong feels like he’s been attacked by multiple meat tenderisers and then left to marinate in his own juices except it’s been too long and now he’s completely dried out. His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth and there’s a pressure behind his eyes that has him immediately looking around for a bottle of water or anything to quench his thirst. 

His eyes fall on the end table by his side of the bed and his heart swells when he sees the glass of water and the bottle of aspirin. Jaehyun had even left a little note —  _ thought you might need these, remember to take two pills only. no more.  _ Taeyong scowls at the last few words — that had been  _ one _ time. 

He grabs the pills and downs the entire glass of water before relaxing back into the pillows. He looks around the room, noting the deep orange light leaking through the gaps in the blinds as it casts weird shadows against the wall across from him. Nothing much has changed since the last time he’d been here, he notes. The desk is still where it always is, nestled against the far wall and piled high with files and documents of some sort. The succulents resting on the window sill behind the bed still look like they’re in that state between trying to survive and just giving in to nature. Taeyong reaches out to brush a finger one, marvelling at the smoothness against his skin and immediately makes a mental note to water them.

The rest of the room is in the same general state of mild disaster as the rest of the apartment, which is pretty much how Jaehyun enjoys living anyway. It grates on Taeyong sometimes, the constant state of clutter, but it is not his place so Taeyong has to settle for the occasional admonishment. He plucks at a stray thread on the blanket and, oh, the sheets have been changed. The realisation elicits a smug smile from Taeyong — so he has had people over. Taeyong shakes his head, the sooner Jaehyun learns that he can’t lie to him, the better it will be for him.

Taeyong waits for the painkillers to kick in, allowing the sounds of the apartment and the city to wash over him in strange, muted waves before he decides to get up. He can still feel the strain on his muscles but the ache is duller now, at least, and he takes what he can get. 

He finds Jaehyun in the kitchen, already showered and hovering over the stove, still dressed in the same pair of sweats as before. The smell of meat hits him and it’s like all the switches in his brain have been switched on and suddenly he’s ravenous. His stomach gurgles an affirmative, which is all the convincing he needs to stalk over to where Jaehyun is. He leans against the counter, eyes narrowing as he looks between Jaehyun and the currently browning steaks in the pan.

“Are you  _ cooking, _ Jae?” 

Jaehyun scowls, not taking his eyes off the pan as he flips the steaks. They’re already kind of burnt, Taeyong realises, but he’s not going to bite the hand that feeds him. Not too hard anyway. “No, I’m cleaning, Yong. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Taeyong sniffs, crossing his arms. “Alright, alright. No need to get all snarky with me. They smell great, but they won’t if you keep them on there any longer.”

“Shit,” Jaehyun hisses, pulling the pan off the stove and setting it on the counter. “Sorry, I can never tell.”

Taeyong laughs, tail swishing in mild amusement. “It’s fine. You don’t normally cook though.”

He allows the question to remain unspoken as Jaehyun turns to look at him for a second, taking in the bruises he must be sporting under his eyes. “Yeah, but you look like you needed some meat in you.” He turns back to where the steaks rest and his brow furrows. “I just hope they’re edible.”

His heart swells with the amount of gratitude he feels towards Jaehyun and he pushes off the counter to wrap his arms around him. “They’re fine,” he mumbles into the curve of Jaehyun’s back. “You didn’t have to though, so thank you.”

Jaehyun gives his arm an affectionate pat. “Stop saying thank you, Yong. What kind of friend would I be otherwise?”

“Mmm still…” 

Jaehyun laughs, turning around in Taeyong’s hold to look at him. “I mean it, Yong. Don’t worry about it. Now I know you haven’t had a warm shower in ages, so go take one while I finish up with dinner.”

“Oh my god,” Taeyong groans, dropping his head against Jaehyun’s chest. “You always know just what I need. But first, give me a bite of that steak, I’m starving.”

Jaehyun gives in easily, turning around to cut a slice for Taeyong who snaps it up eagerly, which makes Jaehyun laugh again. It is a warm laugh, deep and breathy and Taeyong feels it in his chest where they’re still pressed against each other. It’s always been one of his favourite things about Jaehyun, and he loves that it never fails to elicit a smile from him, even now. It makes him miss Mark even more too, Mark who sometimes acted more like Jaehyun’s kid brother and who had adopted him into their little family faster than Taeyong, not that he had minded. Someone needed to spoil Mark and if it couldn’t be him at least Mark had Jaehyun. 

“Hey,” Jaehyun’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, hands reaching to cup Taeyong’s face. “I know what you’re thinking and we’ll find him, okay? But you need to look after yourself too. Now, go. Food’ll be ready when you’re done.”

Jaehyun nudges him towards the hallway but not before he gives Taeyong a scratch between his ears that sends a shiver down his spine. He scowls at Jaehyun who only winks before he returns his attention to the stove. He grumbles under his breath, he really hates that Jaehyun knows him so well sometimes (no, he doesn’t).

The hot shower is a godsend and Taeyong comes back out finally feeling alive and clean. He doesn’t know how he could have thought he was clean after that cold shower in the morning and he silently apologises for sleeping in Jaehyun’s bed in that state. The food is laid out on the coffee table because Jaehyun refuses to get a dining table but Taeyong’s never had one either so he doesn’t care, just plops himself down beside Jaehyun on the floor.

The TV is on and playing some soap opera that Taeyong knows it’s more for background noise than actual entertainment. Although Jaehyun seems to be rather invested, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen even when Taeyong sits down. Taeyong nudges Jaehyun softly with his elbow. “Never took you to be a day-time drama person.”

Jaehyun jerks, glancing at him wide-eyed like he hadn’t noticed Taeyong at all. “Sorry, I was just… Thinking.”

“You sure you weren’t just mesmerised by that hottie on TV?” Taeyong snorts reaching for the pair of chopsticks laid out in front of him. It is nothing extravagant, aside from the steak it is just some rice and some side dishes that obviously came from a supermarket but Taeyong isn’t complaining. Jaehyun doesn’t usually cook so Taeyong is thankful that they’re at least having more than just instant noodles. 

“Shut up,” Jaehyun grumbles, grabbing his own set of chopsticks and shoving a piece of steak in his mouth. “I was  _ not.  _ I don’t even know who that is.”

Taeyong hums around his mouthful of food but shoots Jaehyun a look that says he doesn’t believe him one bit.

“I’m serious,” Jaehyun groans. “I was thinking about Mark actually. I think I know a way to find out who took him.”

Taeyong freezes, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean? How?!”

“Calm down, Yong,” Jaehyun answers. “This is just a thought and there’s no guarantees but… I think I may know someone who can help.”

“You know someone? Who?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “It’s a long story and an even longer shot but, even if he doesn’t know, he might be able to find out. I can give him a call but, like I said, I can’t make any promises.”

“It’s fine, that’s fine. I mean,” he pauses and looks up at Jaehyun with wide eyes. “That’s something at least right?”

Jaehyun smiles and brings Taeyong’s chopsticks to his mouth to get him to start eating again. “It’s a start. But we’ll find him, I promise.”

Taeyong sighs as he leans back against the couch allowing his head to drop until it’s resting on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “What would I do without you?”

Jaehyun snorts. “Be a lot better off probably.”

Taeyong laughs but he knows it’s not true. He regrets many things in his life but he doesn’t think he will ever regret the day he met Jaehyun at the ring. Taeyong had been there for Mark, of course, it had been his job to keep Mark under control. But Jaehyun, Taeyong had written him off as a spectator at first except that the look on his face had grown more and more disgusted as the night wore on. It had intrigued Taeyong because humans loved the rings, it gave them that sense of superiority over hybrids they always craved. He had found out afterwards that he and Mark had intrigued Jaehyun too, even though he would never admit it now. 

Jaehyun had helped them escape that ring — their first — but it had been a lot harder to stay out of the circuit than they’d thought. Taeyong and Mark, out of desperation, were brought back into it not long after and, even though he had failed to keep them away from it, Jaehyun had stayed by their side regardless. He had been their support, the addition to their little family they hadn’t known they’d needed, their single constant in a life that constantly threatened to warp them. A part of Taeyong couldn’t help but wonder if it had finally succeeded, now that Mark is gone and his life feels like it’s been turned inside out, but he pushes that thought aside immediately. No, he will find Mark, if it’s the last thing he does.

Dinner passes without much fanfare after that, Taeyong and Jaehyun both taking the time to catch each other up on their lives. Taeyong tells Jaehyun everything that’s happened from the moment they were taken and while Jaehyun’s eyes darken visibly at the mention of the muzzle and the collar, he never interrupts, allowing Taeyong to finish his recount before he says anything. Taeyong can tell Jaehyun is holding something in, half expects Jaehyun to explode the minute he finishes but Jaehyun only pulls him into a hug that says more than words ever could. He returns it readily, curling into the warmth of Jaehyun’s chest until Jaehyun finally excuses himself to call his contact.

When Jaehyun leaves, Taeyong busies himself with taking care of the dishes. He tries not to eavesdrop but his hybrid hearing makes it all too easy for him to make out Jaehyun’s voice through the closed door of his bedroom. He listens as Jaehyun explains the situation, pausing when the person on the line speaks but Taeyong can’t hear the voice on the phone. He strains and his tail flicks back forth in equal parts curiosity and frustration. He doesn’t really enjoy snooping but he knows Jaehyun is not telling him something, deliberately holding back information about this  _ contact _ of his, which has him even more interested in the whole situation. 

By the time Jaehyun is done with his call, Taeyong is just hosing down the last of bowls, which makes Jaehyun stop short when he sees Taeyong in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” 

“Your dishes?” Taeyong answers snickering slightly at the way Jaehyun is looking between him and the sink like he’d just summoned a demon out of it. “Why are you so surprised?”

“You didn’t have to, Yong,” Jaehyun says finally when he regains his senses, sliding up against the counter beside Taeyong, a mirror of Taeyong’s earlier actions.

Taeyong shrugs. “It’s fine, you cooked. What did your friend say?”

Jaehyun frowns. “He’s not really a- I wouldn’t call him a  _ friend, _ exactly. Maybe an acquaintance?”

“Your  _ acquaintance _ then. Does he not have a name? What did he say?”

Jaehyun sighs. “I don’t know if I should be telling you his name. I don’t know how safe it would be for you to know it…”

“Why?” Taeyong stacks the last of the bowls on the drying rack and turns to face Jaehyun, arms crossed. “Who is he? Is he one of your one night stands? A  _ bad _ one night stand? Oh my god, do I know him?”

“No, Taeyong. Shut up. It’s not like that. It’s just…” He trails off but Taeyong gives him a questioning look and he groans, rubbing his face in frustration. “Ten, okay? His name is Ten but  _ please, _ for the love of God, don’t ever say it out loud.”

“Why?” Taeyong repeats, frowning. “Why can’t I say his name? Is he some mafia boss or something.”

Jaehyun doesn’t answer but the look on his face tells Taeyong everything. “Oh my god. Oh my god. What the  _ fuck,  _ Jung Jaehyun?!” Taeyong hisses, clutching at Jaehyun’s arm. “How do you have the number of a mafia boss in your phone? How can you just drop him a call like it’s nothing?” 

“Like I said,” Jaehyun says with a grimace as he tries to detach himself from Taeyong’s grip. “It’s a long story. But if anyone can find out who took Mark, it will be him.”

“Jae,” Taeyong whispers, frowning as he searches Jaehyun’s face. “What have you been getting yourself into?” 

Jaehyun sighs. “Nothing, Yongie. I promise.” He gives Taeyong’s shoulders a squeeze that does nothing to convince him. “Ten says he’ll do what he can, and that he’ll call us if he hears anything. Knowing him, though, that could take a few days so you might want to make yourself comfortable.”

༺ ♛ ༻

When Ten finally calls, almost a week has passed and Taeyong has just about succeeded in driving himself up the wall with anxiety. Jaehyun had tried to help — he’d given Taeyong free reign of the apartment including Jaehyun’s secret stash of video games, and he’d even let Taeyong  _ clean _ at one point. But even a newly decluttered space can do nothing to assuage the sense of anxiety building up in Taeyong’s mind. And Taeyong knows that that had been Jaehyun’s sad attempt at trying to make up for the fact that he’s hardly been around since that first day, leaving Taeyong to wallow in his worry alone.

In fact, since Jaehyun had made that phone call to Ten, Taeyong’s only ever seen him a handful of times and those usually happen at breakfast. After that, Jaehyun disappears to do whatever it is that he does — Taeyong’s never really asked — only returning long after Taeyong’s gone to bed. So between worrying about Mark and being stuck alone in a home that, while comfortable, isn’t  _ his _ , Taeyong is sure he’s about an inch from losing whatever sanity he has left.

That is how Jaehyun finds him that night, wearing tread marks into the cold linoleum tiles of the apartment as he paces back and forth, occasionally peeking at the clock above the couch that glares angry red numbers at him. His head snaps to the door when he hears the sound of the lock clicking open, earlier than usual today, and he almost feels bad that it had to be on the one day he hadn’t cooked dinner. Almost. But he’d been too caught up in his thoughts today to do much of anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s eaten.

Jaehyun freezes when he spots Taeyong in the middle of the room, fingers caught between his teeth, brow furrowing when he looks up to meet Jaehyun’s gaze. “Yong?” He asks, cautiously as he lets the door fall shut behind him. “You okay over there?”

Taeyong shoots him a look that could have frozen hell twice over. “What do you think, Jae? It’s been a week! Every day that passes I can’t help but think that there’s a lower chance he’s still alive. We still don’t even know who took him or what they took him for!”

Taeyong is on the verge of hysterics but he can’t help it, he’s spent every single day checking every possible channel — news, radio, social media — praying that there will be no reports of unidentified hybrid deaths. Not that the news covers much of that sort but Taeyong needed to have all his bases covered. 

Jaehyun stops short just within arm's reach from Taeyong who has stopped pacing and is now glowering at Jaehyun. He places a hand tentatively on Taeyong’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze when Taeyong doesn’t immediately pull away. “If it makes you feel better, I have news,” Jaehyun says gently. 

Taeyong’s eyes widen and he clutches at Jaehyun’s hand. “An update? What is it?”

“Not an update  _ exactly.  _ But Ten called today.”

“What is it? What did he say?” 

Jaehyun sighs as he takes Taeyong’s hand to lead him to the couch. He waits until they’re both seated, cross-legged and facing each other with Taeyong's hand still in his, before he continues. “He said he wants to see you.”

Taeyong visibly pales. “He  _ what?! _ ” 

༺ ♛ ༻

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, a look into Taeyong's perspective following the events of the first night. I hope you enjoyed it and the introduction of all the new characters :) Things will be picking up from here on out so I hope you'll continue to stick with me on this *waves hand dramatically* _journey_ , of sorts. 
> 
> If you did enjoy this chapter, I’d love to know your thoughts!♡ You can leave me a comment here or on **[twitter](https://twitter.com/moonfleur_)** or **[cc](https://curiouscat.me/moonfleur_)** if you want! I swear I won't bite ♥︎
> 
> Thank you for reading!♥︎✿
> 
> While you’re here, please spend some time to look through [this](%E2%80%9C) for ways you can help blm & the junk terror bill in the Philippines ♡

**Author's Note:**

> ☠︎ THANK YOU FOR READING! ☠︎
> 
> If you liked it, please leave a kudos or comment, especially if you would like me to write the continuation for the rest of the drawings ♥︎
> 
> Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/moonfleur_) or [curious cat](http://curiouscat.me/moonfleur_) ♥︎


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